


Project W.I.N.G.

by BlackCanary0001



Series: Protecting the Batbrothers [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Apprenticeship, BAMF Cassandra Cain, Blackmail, Cass is Queen, Dick has a bad time, Dick would do anything for his brothers, Everybody is kidnapped, F/M, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Kidnapped Cassandra Cain, Kidnapped Damian Wayne, Kidnapped Dick Grayson, Kidnapped Jason Todd, Kidnapped Stephanie Brown, Kidnapped Tim Drake, Kidnapping, Protective Dick Grayson, Psychological Torture, Slade Is An Asshole, Torture, but what´s new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCanary0001/pseuds/BlackCanary0001
Summary: 1. Protecting the Batbrothers2. Project W.I.N.G.When a new foe arises, the Batkids have to do anything in their power to save Gotham and themselves. After discovering the impossible, secrets are revealed, secrets and memories so dark, they have been hidden and locked away in the far corners of their minds. But someone is out for blood and he has his eyes set on Gotham´s favorite birds. One by one, he goes after them, but no one could have guessed his end game and motivations, no one could have prepared them for his revenge.To top it all, Jason and Dick are still struggling with what happened to them, Dick with the guilt and Jason with the fear. If they wanted to have any chance at a recovery, they will have to come to terms with the events of before... and face the darkness inside.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & The Team (Young Justice), Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Protecting the Batbrothers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905292
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back. I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place 2 years after Protecting the Batbrothers

It all started with a master and an apprentice. The apprentice, a young man in his mid-twenties, still believed he and his master had a partnership, that he was no subordinate, but in fact an equal.   
But for the master, there was only one student, only one boy good enough to follow in his footsteps one day. _And he was going to get that boy._ But to do so, the man must take precautions and have back-up plans for his pack-up plans and things like that took time. There was one last obstacle he had to overcome and he knew just the right way to do so.

"Master?" This time, the one addressing the man as 'master' wasn't a blue-haired boy, it was a girl.   
Joker's son had no clue about the other apprentice the master had trained and was still training, Castor thought he was _special._ A cruel grin stretched the man's lips. There was only one special child out there, the one who rejected him, the only person who had earned his respect.

He looked down at the girl that bowed swiftly. He once again asked himself how old she was. Sixteen? Seventeen? He didn't really care. She was small for her age, but her looks only deceived her enemies. She was deadly, just like him.

"Apprentice," he greeted her coolly. The girl still had her head bowed, not meeting his eyes.  
Submissive.   
That's how the he wanted his students. A defiant student only got himself hurt and a hurt apprentice was useless on missions. The man was playing a dangerous game, a game that could cost him his head if he didn't control his apprentices. He needed them bound in chains of respect, needed the idea of them overpowering him burned out of their minds.

He had taken her in when she was still a toddler, taken her right out of the hospital bed, so she'd grow up with the knowledge that she is nothing without him. Unfortunately, Castor was different.

All the man wanted was to impale that useless boy with one of his swords, or both, but sadly, he still needed him. The master took a great risk by taking Joker's son under his wing, but with the boy's hate for Robin- no, _Nightwing-_ corrected the man himself, Castor would do anything to get his revenge, and that just happened to be exactly what the master needed him to do. It is almost cute, seeing how Castor thought himself as a great martial arts master.

The man chuckled. Rage blinded those who were too weak to control themselves, that was the reason he didn't tell Castor that Robin was no Robin anymore, no little birdie, that there was in fact a new Robin on the streets, a Robin the master hated almost as much as _Dick Grayson._ Damian al Guhl. The man's smirk widened. Maybe he'd get to kill two birds with one stone. Quite literally.

"You have a new mission. You'll find everything you need in your room," he instructed coldly, staring impassively at the girl.  
She bowed her head once more and nodded.  
"You're dismissed."  
She left without a word.

Whenever he had a mission assignment for his apprentices, he summoned them to his 'throne room', that's what Castor called it. Basically, it was a huge plain room with a throne-like chair in the middle of it and a holographic computer wall. His haunt wasn't as big as most people might think it was.

In addition to the 'throne room', he had a huge open-air training area, his personal bed room with an additional kitchen and bath room, entering was a big no-no for anyone, and then there was the hallway with two other rooms.

The girl was living with him, though they barely ever saw each other, while Castor had his own apartment in the northern part of Gotham, but the man had a room for him in his haunt anyway. 

He allowed his apprentices free roam of the city, they could even leave the county if they wanted to or rent their own houses, he and his she-apprentice had lived on different sides of the world for some time, but if he called them back for a mission, he expected obedience. That was the deal.

The girl had agreed to stay with him for the time being, though she was spending a lot of time in the gym or the library over the day. He didn't supervise her, she was loyal to a fault.  
Castor's small apartment on the other hand was cross-linked with hidden cameras and microphones. That boy's ego was too big for his own good.

He sighed and turned his attention to the holographic screens. Time to cage a bird.


	2. Chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason makes a terrefying discovery and Dick has plans for the future.

_240 hours before (10 days):_   
_Midnight_

A rather angry yell sliced through the peaceful silence of Wayne Manor, house to a family not by blood, but by heart. At least most of the time...

"Tim Drake, I swear to god, if you forget our anniversary ONE MORE TIME, I'm going to steal one of Damian's swords and castrate you!"

"Hey! Don't bring me into your relationship crisis. AND DON'T YOU DARE STEAL MY SWORDS!"

"We don't have a _crisi_ s! Steph, c'mon, it's not that bad!"

"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one, Replacement? Of course it's bad, you forgot your anniversary for the _third_ time in a row!"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand, Jason! I don't see you having a girlfriend!"

"And if you don't remember this next year, then you won't have one either!"

"Would you all shut your traps, I'm trying to sleep!"

"Not in that tone, Master Damian!"

"Boys-"

"Hey, here are girls, too, Bruce! Don't be so sexist!"

"Fine, kids, if you don't stop this right now and go back to sleep, then none of you'll go on patrol tonight!"

And just like that, the Manson went silent once again.

_234 hours before:_

Tim Drake awoke with a head splitting headache. He groaned and turned to his side, smashing his hand against the beeping alarm clock. "Shut it, you annoying peace of metal," he grumbled and sat up in his warm and comfortable bed, rubbing his eyes. He groaned again. His stomach hurt.   
And then the events of the night came crashing back at him and he realized just why he had such a bad stomach ache. Fear and dread. He had forgotten his and Stephanie's anniversary. Again. He promptly fell back into his pillows.   
Steph had told him last year, after he'd forgotten their two-year anniversary, that it was his responsibility as her boyfriend to write her a cute message the following year at midnight. And he forgot.

"Timmy," came the voice of his girlfriend from downstairs, oozing with false sweetness and Tim new he was screwed. "Come down, Timmy, it's breakfast time!"   
"Uh," stuttered Tim, looking for a way out of this. "I think I'll stay in bed, I don't feel so good!" he yelled downstairs, hoping to sound convincing.   
"Timothy Jackson Drake, if you don't get your ass down hear in three seconds, I'm gonna make good on my promise from last night!"  
Tim gulped. He really didn't want to be castrated, especially not with Damian's swords. Who knows which guts he's put them through.  
"Coming, sunshine!"

"Hey, Tim," greeted his older brother Dick when he sat down at the table, as far away from Stephanie as possible. Alfred was serving breakfast and Bruce was reading today's newspaper. Damian and Jason were- to no one's surprise- fighting (only God knows what about) and throwing pointy things at each other. Steph was explaining Monopoly to Cassandra, who didn't seem to see any sense behind the game and Dick was enjoying his food, thinking about who knows what.

"Why don't you eat, Tim?" asked Stephanie innocently, smiling that false sweet smile again. Tim glanced down at his food and then back up at his by now devilishly smirking girlfriend.   
"Eh, not hungry." Tim didn't trust his food anymore. Heaven knows what Stephanie put into it! "A shame," she cackled and bit demonstratively into her scrambled eggs. Tim's stomach grumbled, but he ignored it and threw a glare at his chuckling tormentor. "I hate you," he mumbled, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his palms. "What was that?"   
"Nothing," he squeaked.

_232_ _hours_ _before:_

"So not fair," grumbled Jason, shouldering his backpack. Tim nodded. "Yeah, why is Dick excused from school, but we have to go!" Bruce groaned. "Because Dick and I are going to Blüdhaven and look for an apartment for him. I told you that during breakfast." Jason huffed in annoyance and Tim could hear Damian snicker. "What's the problem, Todd? Afraid you can't keep up at school?"  
"Why, you little..."  
"Young Masters, please. The Limousine is waiting outside, Miss Stephanie and Miss Cassandra are already inside and waiting for you to come," interrupted the British butler the boys' bickering. "Still, Dick is not eighteen yet, he should have to go to school just like us!"   
Bruce, who looked really pissed now, sighed. "Jason, Dick is going to be eighteen in a few days, while your seventeenth birthday was just a few weeks ago. And don't get me started on Tim and Damian. You two are practically kids."  
"I'm not a _kid_ ," growled Damian. "I'm twelve. Drake is the kid."  
"I'm older than you."  
"I don't care."  
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "If you don't get in the car _right now,_ I'll bench you for the next whole week."  
"What?! You can't do that."   
Bruce gave Jason a hell-I-can look and crossed his arms. "You want to test me, Jason?" The two had a stare down, until Jason grabbed Tim's arm and dragged him out of the Manson, Damian trailing behind. Tim could hear Jason mutter thing like, "Stupid", "They are all idiots" and "Dick is a dick," as they climbed into the car.

"Let me guess," laughed Stephanie, as they were being driven to Gotham High, "you three tried to convince Bruce to let you stay at home."  
"He threatened to bench us!" complained Jason, throwing his arms in the air. "Who does he think he is?!"   
"Your legal guardian," deadpanned Cass quietly. Even though she'd mastered the English language, she still didn't talk much and only really quietly. If you didn't know her, you'd probably think she's shy, but Tim knew better. She just didn't feel comfortable around others. She hardly talked around the Batfamily, but with strangers- no sound came out of her mouth, but the Bats could still understand her, her body language and her facial expression. They learned to read her, like she read others.

_Meanwhile:_

Bruce and Dick drove in silence. None of them knew what to say, as they got further and further away from Gotham. "They'll miss you," broke Bruce the awkward silence. Dick nodded. "I know. I'll miss them, too. And you. I'll miss you." Another few minutes of silence. "Damian will come to visit a lot," stated Bruce flatly. "Why?" The father looked into his son's blue orbs. "He is training to be Robin, not Batman. He wants you as his mentor, he wants Robin."   
"He's always welcomed, you all are."  
"I know."

Bruce had never been a very talkative person. He knew that it had been hard for Dick, when he had been living with him, before the others came. Dick was a very active boy, he always needed some kind of action and couldn't stand to stay still for longer than a few minutes. It had been driving Bruce nuts, even though he thought it was quite adorable. But there were also a lot of similarities between the two. Their sense of justice, their need for righteousness and, of course, their fighting style. And not just that, also the force behind their attacks, their motivation and their... weakness; family.

But was family really a weakness? Or was it rather what gave them strength, encouraged them to go on until they'd drop dead? Was it their fuel to continue fighting, fighting for-

"Bruce?" Dick's question pulled him out of his philosophical thoughts.  
"Are you angry?"  
"No."  
"Then why are you so cold? Colder then usual."  
Bruce stayed silence. "I'm not angry," he repeated eventually. "I just don't want to..."  
"Let me go?"  
"I guess." Bruce hated talking about his feelings, but he knew Dick needed it right now, confirmation that he was doing the right thing. "Bruce, I'm not moving out right now, we're just looking for a possible apartment for the future. I can't live at the Manor forever, this had to come someday."  
"Why Blüdhaven?"  
Dick sigh. "It's close to Gotham, but not too close. I can start my own life-"  
"Out of my shadow," finished Bruce his sentence. Dick sighed again, running a hand through his dark hair. "I guess."  
"I think there is another reason," mused Bruce, and leaned back in his seat. "Blüdhaven is similar to Gotham. Most second crime-ridden city. You want a change, but at the same time, you don't. It's not the city you want to change, is it?"  
Dick looked at him with his big blue eyes and Bruce was painfully reminded that Dick- his little boy- had grown up, that those eyes weren't the eyes of a scared ten year old, who came crawling into Bruce's bed when he had a nightmare again.

"It's the people around you," he picked the conversation up again. "You want a change in neighbourhood." Dick frowned. "I don't-"   
"You do. Because everything reminds you of your guilt. Of Joker. You are running, not from Gotham, or Joker, but from yourself. But you can't outrun yourself, Dick. What happened was two years ago, what happened happened, you can't change that. But don't hold on to your guilt, you are leaving Gotham to move on, so _move on."_  
Another second of awekard silence.

"That was the most sentiment thing you've ever said," smiled Dick slightly, lighting up the mood. Bruce smirked. "Don't get used to it."   
"I won't."

_225 hours before:_

"Get back here, you asshole!" yelled a very angry twelve year old at his seventeen year old brother, as the Wayne siblings got back home after school. "Catch me if you can, Demon Brat!"   
"TODD!! Give me my swords back!"  
"NEVER!"  
"Young Masters, please!" said Alfred sternly, an exasperated look in his old eyes.  
Stephanie sighed and patted his shoulder. "It's no use, Alf, you know them."  
The old butler pursed his lips. "Yes, I guess you're right, Miss Brown."

"What on earth is going on here?" Everybody turned to look at the speaker. "Bruce, you're back!" exclaimed Stephanie, smiling at her mentor and her pseudo brother. "How was Blüdhaven?" She asked, crushing Dick in a hug. He laughed slightly, his chest vibrating against hers. "Good. We found a few nice apartments in good locations."

"When will you be leaving Grayson?" grumbled Damian, a bored expression on his face. "Don't know yet," shrugged the older boy and ruffled his brother's hair. Damian swatted his hand away, a scowl on his face.   
"-Tt-"

_220 hours before:_

"Damian, you and I will patrol Crime Alley, Dick, you'll take the day off and write that application for the BPD." There was a certain bitterness in Bruce's voice and Dick flinched. He knew Bruce would be pissed about his choice of profession, but hearing him say it with such coldness still hurt. "Sure," he muttered, leaving the cave with slouched shoulders.

Jason glared at the bat. "Are you kidding me?" he growled, taking a furious step towards him, but Tim laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping his approach.   
He knew that Jason and Dick had come a lot closer since the whole Joker-kidnapping-and-torturing-them story. "Don't try, it's no use," he whispered into the rouge bat's ear.   
Jason shrugged his hand off, but loosened his tens shoulders. "Whatever," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Where am I suppose to patrol?"   
"Factory district," stated Batman shortly, turning to Tim. "And you'll stay here to monitor us. Batgirl, Orphan, you follow the ordinary patrol routes."   
-

Dick slammed his door shut and flopped down on his bed. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face. _Great, just grea_ t. His father hated him, Jason probably blew up about it and started a fight with Bruce, while Tim tried to stop them and Damian didn't give a damn. At times like this, he really wished Barbara was still with them; was still Batgirl. But she wasn't.

He sadly looked at a picture of Batgirl hanging on the wall, her red hair framing her face. He glanced at his phone. Maybe he should call her? He still remembered when the doctor had told them she'd never be able to walk again.

_"I'm sorry, sir, but the bullet tore through her spine. If we try to take it out, it would kill her. She won't be able to walk again. I'm really sorry."_

Tears welled up in Dick's eyes as he recalled the night everything had changed.

_"Batgirl, be careful. These thugs aren't like others. They are better at hitting their target than not."_   
_She smiled mischivously at him. "Don't worry, 'Wing, I can take care of myself."_   
_"I_ _know_ _." He pecked her on the_ _lips_ _and_ _watched_ _as she took out her grappling gun and flew down at the thugs shooting at_ _GCPD_ _officers._

His head hit the pillows and he closed his eyes as he tried hard not to cry.

 _There was a shot_ _and_ _then a female scream. Dick felt his heart stop. No. He knew that scream, feared to hear it ever since he fell in love_ _with_ _a bat. "Batgirl!" He turned around to see her lying on her back, a red circle growing near her stomach area. "No!" But it was too late._ _Batgirl_ _was no more._

He took a breath and sat up again, taking the phone in his hand. He unlocked it and dialled the number of his lover. After a few seconds, her voice came through the device. "Dick?"  
"Hey, Babs. How are you?" He knew his voice sounded tight, but he needed to hear her voice. "I'm finally allowed to leave to hospital tomorrow!" she exclaimed excitedly and the acrobat couldn't help but be exited too, his spirit lifting. "That's great news!" Barbara always managed to cheer him up.

"So, now that you don't sound like a kicked puppy anymore, you gonna tell me what happened?" Dick's smile faltered. "How did you-"  
"You may be a bat, Dick, but you can't hide anything from me. I just know you too well."   
Dick let out a tired sigh. "I guess you do. I told Bruce about my choice of work after we returned from Blüdhaven."  
"I can imagine his reaction. But it's your life, Dick. And if you want to be a cop in a crime ridden city, then be one. No one has the right to stop you from fulfilling you destiny. You always wanted to help people, Dick, and now you found a way to do it as Dick Grayson, not as Nightwing."  
"Thanks, Babs. I really needed that- you. I need you."  
"Is that your way of telling me you love me?"  
"No, that's my way of telling you how awesome you are." He smiled. "I love you."  
"Love you, too."

_218 hours before:_

Red Hood crouched at the ledge of a long abondened factory building, eyes scanning the surrounding area. His hands hovered above his guns strapped to his side. "You sure it's here, Replacement?"  
He could practically hear his little brother's sigh at the end of the line. "Yes, idiot. All the bodies that have been found were in a 10 miles radius from there. You're in the right place."   
"Was just making sure. Didn-"   
He stopped. The wind had picked up and carried over a smell. Well, technically, he couldn't smell anything, but he had constructed his helmet to pick up smells like burning flesh, rotting flesh and blood. And his helmet was signalling him that two of those thing were somewhere close. Blood and rotting flesh.

"I think I found something."  
"Told you so. Wait, what did you find?"  
Jason rolled his eyes. "Blood. I'm following the scent."  
He heard a suppressed snort. "Scent? What are you, a werewolf?"  
"No, you asshead, but I have a fully automatic helmet, if you haven't noticed." He climbed down the fire escape, hearing Tim call him a few very colourful words in the process that would have made Damian proud. "Didn't know you'd ever use such foul language. What must Alfred think?"  
"Shut it, Jason. You there yet?"  
"No."  
He followed the direction his helmet was showing him and unease began to form a heavy knot in his stomach. Something was defenitifly wrong. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.   
The alley he just walked into was dark, shadowy trashcans lining the wall, but that wasn't what caught the Red Hood's attention. It was the body.

He took a cautious step forward, careful to avoid the blood stains on the ground. His heart beat faster than it should, pounding inside his chest like it wanted nothing more than to jump out and run away. There was an uncomfortable tight sensation in his gut, as he slowly knelt down and examined the body.

It was small, probably still a child, but Jason couldn't tell. His- Jason decided it was a he- face was covered by blood soaked hair. Jason reached out and carefully lifted the bangs, revealing the kid's face. Hot anger burned in his chest as he looked at the pained expression of the child that could be no older than twelve. Who would do something like that to a kid? He looked around the crime scene and realized that most of the blood came from underneath the body and left stains across the floor, like he had been dragged here and dumbed like garbage.

Jason swallowed and slowly turned the boy around. An audible gasp exited his lips as he saw what had caused so much blood loss. The boy's back was raw flesh, bones sticking out in strange angles, blood smeared all across his backside. "Jason? What's wrong?"   
Jason remembered he still had his com on.  
"I found a body." Even in his own ears, his voice sounded shaken, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Someone out there was killing children. "Is it like the others?" There had been more bodies, all children, found dead in some alley, their backs ripped open, just like it was the case with the young boy in front of Jason. "Yes," he swallowed down the bile in his throat. "It... I didn't imagine it to be so... gruesome."

Tim could tell that Jason was clearly shaken up, which wasn't an easy thing to do. "I'll call Batman," he said, softening his voice. "He can collect the body, while you keep looking for anything out of ordinary, okay?"   
"Yes, call him. I'll search the remaining buildings before heading back."  
"Fine with me," muttered Tim as he looked at the ticking clock. Eleven pm. and they hadn't been sleeping the other night, thanks to him forgetting Steph's and his anniversary. Again.   
He yawned as he opened the com link connecting him to Batman.

Jason didn't stop running until he was a few streets away from the body and his helmet couldn't detect the smell of gore anymore. He ripped it off, throwing it to the side and emptying his stomach content onto the dirty floor. Normally, Jason wouldn't have any problems with bodies, not in his kind of business, but the way this body- this kid- looked... It just reminded him too much of his own death. He had been just a few years older than the boy, trained by a bat and raised on the streets, he was used to rough handling, but the kid, how scared had he been, how much pain did he have to endure before darkness finally claimed him? Jason didn't want to think about it.

He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and wrinkled his nose against the bitter taste of bile. Groaning, he put his red helmet back on and grudgingly took out his grappling gun.  
He heard a _clink_ as the hook locked somewhere on the roof of the closest building.

Twenty minutes later, he still had to check three more abondened factory buildings, and he heard a static crack in his communicator and then the somewhat agitated voice of Tim Drake. "Hood, we analysed the body and Batman found something. It looks like the wounds on the back weren't inflicted by someone from the outside, his bones are deformed and broke through his muscles and skin by themselves, not by force."  
Jason frowned deeply. "How is that possible? Bones don't just think _'oh hey, I don't like my position, lets move three inches to the right'_."   
Tim huffed. "It's as impossible as Superman or Metas."  
"So he's an alien?"  
"No, that's the strange thing, we couldn't find any traces of dark matter and his DNA is human. But we did find something unusual."

Jason could hear the hesitation in Tim's voice. "We took a blood sample to discover his identity and... well, there was a cocktail of chemicals in his blood. I assume that's what killed him."  
"A new drug?" murmured Jason, fisting his hands. Gotham really didn't need a drug on the streets that ended up killing its users. The city had enough problems without homicidal scientists that saw it fitting to kill kids.  
"So the kid was a customer?" he asked Red Robin.  
"Don't think so. The chemicals used for- I'm not even sure you can call it a drug- are too expensive for a kid from the streets. We checked his background and he was reported missing two years ago. His parents died during a gang war and he avoided the orphanages."

Jason resisted the urge to punch the wall next to him. It were always the kids that suffered. Adults didn't care if they destroyed lives, families. It was always about money and power. _Not always,_ reminded him a small voice in the back of his head, but Jason decided to ignore it. Batman and the Justice League were the exception, not the rule.

"So he wasn't buying the drugs," Jason forced out, trying to calm his rage, "someone tested them on him."  
"And on the other kids, too. They were all lab rats." Tim didn't sound any less enraged than Jason and he could imagine the younger boy standing in front of the Bat-computer, trying really hard not the smash his fist into the expensive monitors.

"Just get back home, Hood."  
"Will do, just gonna check out the last warehouse."  
Jason didn't wait for a response and started walking again. He rounded a corner and was stopped by a dead end. "Great," he grumbled sarcastically. This was really not helping his mood. He looked at the buildings on each side of him and narrowed his eyes. Maybe he could...   
Jason turned to his left and took a few steps back. He flexed his knees and leaned his upper body forward, taking a deep breath and ran. Yes, he ran straight at the wall. If he didn't time this right, the landing would be pretty fucking painful, so he counted his steps.   
_Five, four, three, two, one, jump!_  
He leaped into the air.  
Using the wall as a springboard, he catapulted himself even higher.   
He extended his arms and reached for the railing of the fire escape. His gloved fingers brushed the metal and his right hand slipped, but he managed to hold on tight with his left.

He hang like that for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath, before pulling himself up and looking down. _Almost 13 feet._ If he hadn't cought the fire escape, things wouldn't be pretty now.  
"Nice catch, Hood."  
Jason jumped and his finger flew up to where his ear was hidden behind his helmet, near his com. "What the fuck, Replacement? How did you...?"  
"There is a camera in your helmet, you know that, right?"  
"Ye- holy shit!"  
"Jason!? What's wrong?"  
"I think I found something. I'll check it out and call you later."  
Without waiting for Tim to reply, Jason shut off the com. He really didn't need Tim's babbling right now.

What Jason found was a building. Sure, buildings weren't something unusual, but a science lab where an abondened factory was supposed to be was defenitifly not normal. How he knew it was a lab? Well, the vans with the inscription 'GME laboratories' that parked in front of the big steel doors kinda gave it away, whatever GME was supposed to mean.

The doors opened and Jason crouched down low on top of the rooftop, hands hovering above his guns. Two men in white lab coats exited the building, loading big boxes into the vans. _Looks like they're changing locations._  
Jason shot his grabbing gun to get across the open space, where he was in earshot of the two scientists.

"What about the test subjects?" asked the bigger one, a blond man with hamster cheeks.

"The boss said to leave them here and burn the building down. We can't have Batman examining any of our experiments."

"And the weapon?"

Now Jason was curious. Weapon? Experiments?

"We are supposed to bring it to the meeting point."

Jason scowled, wondering wether to let them get the weapon and lead him to their boss, or shoot them and get the weapon himself. He looked at the holo clock in his glove. Almost midnight. Jason didn't have much time before sunrise, maybe seven hours and he didn't know how far away this checkpoint was. He grabbed his guns. "Shooting it is."

He aimed both weapons at the men- not at anything important- and pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out and hit their mark and the men fell to the ground, knocked out. Jason growled and activated his com again. "Are you kidding me, Replacement? Rubber bullets?!"  
"Nice hearing from you, too. And Bats insisted on it."  
"Of course he did," spat Jason bitterly.   
"So, what did you find?"   
"A lab where none should be, two shot scientists and there is supposed to be a weapon here somewhere."  
"A lab?" asked Tim and Jason could basically hear his brain working. "Did they say something about their experiments? Or who they experimented on?"  
Jason furrowed his eyebrows. "You mean the bodies?"  
"Yes. Can you look for evidence?"  
"On it."

Jason jumped down from the roof and landed in front of one of the vans. He looked at the building, then back at the vans. He could just check the vans and leave the lab for the others and get at least a few hours of sleep... "Screw it," he muttered, advancing on the building, guns held firmly in his hands. His heart was fluttering in his chest with every step he took. Even though there was no immediate threat, this place gave him the chills. He followed down a narrow hallway, bright neon tubes hanging on the walls. "Cliché much," he muttered, tightening his grip on his guns. "At least it's not a warehouse."

He reached the end of the tunnel and pushed open another steel door scrunching up his face at the screeching sound. "What the fuck?" He muttered.

Cages. Wherever he looked, he saw metal cages, standing on the ground, on top of each other, or hanging from the ceiling. He slowly and carefully sneaked close to one cage, and his heart leaped out of his chest as he saw what was in it. "Red Robin? You there?"

On the other side of the line, Tim could hear the tightness in his brother's voice. "Yes, you found something?"

"Not something." Jason looked around. "Someone. Children. And they are all dead, just like the one I found in the alley."  
He could hear Tim gasp. "You saw _children_? How many?" Jason knew Tim was reluctant to ask that question. "Fifty, maybe more. They are all in cages, like they're some _dogs._ Who'd do something like that?"

Jason was scared. He wasn't scared often, but this sight, the sight of fifty dead children being locked away in cages, scared him to the core. He looked down at his trembling hand. When did that happen? And when did he grasp one of the metal poles to hold himself up? "-ason? Jason!?" 

The ani-hero shook his head and the trembling stopped. "Yes?"  
"Are you okay?"  
Jason scowled. _What_ _do you think? No._  
"Of course, Replacement. I'm fine." _Lie!_  
"Ok." Tim knew he was lying. "You should come home, Hood. We can look at it tomorrow."  
"No." _Why the hell didn't I say yes?_ "I have to check if anyone is still alive."   
He started walking around the cages, careful to stay away from the blood. And there was a lot. "Jason, I think you-"  
But Jason ignored him. He had to find some evidence of live. They couldn't all be dead, they just couldn't. Someone had to be alive, at least one of them had to be-

And then he heard a noise. Like... feathers against metal. He pointed his gun in front of him and crept forward. He looked around with narrowed eyes and saw... a mountain of feathers in one of the cages? They moved again, making a rustling sound as they gazed the metal bars and Jason went halfway around the cage to get a better look at what he'd found. With an increasing feeling of dread, he realized that underneath all the fluffy feathers, was a human.

He could see her face, pale and small, eyes closed, and as he looked closer, he realized that she wasn't lying under a blanket of bird feathers. "Tim," he whispered, because he had trouble comprehending what he saw. "Were all the dead children human?" He could hear typing. "Yes. Why do you ask? Is everything all right?"  
"No." He gulped down the lump in his throat. "I found a survivor, but she's barely breathing and..." He looked at the small metal plate in the right corner of the cage. "And I know what the scientists were trying to do. I know the name of their project..." He hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. "They call it 'Protect W.I.N.G.'," he finally said, voice trembling.

"Wing?" Tim sounded confused and normally, Jason would have made fun of him, but this was serious. Counting all the dead kids that had turned up and the ones Jason just found, at least seventy children had gone missing and no one had even noticed. Or no one had cared. "Yes, 'Wing'. Literally." Because the blanket wasn't a blanket, the feathers weren't plucked from some poor animal; sprouting from the girl's back were two huge, raven black wings.


	3. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick gets a bone-chilling phone call and does some investigating. Damian meets the new enemy and cuddles with a dog. Jason has talks and swears a lot. Bruce, Steph and Tim... do not play a big role in this chapter... and Cass is supportive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of shit happens in this chapter and it is almost 8000 fucking words long, so... yeah, enjoy.

_214 hours before (9 days):_   
_2 in the morning_   
_Wayne Manor_

"This is... what are we supposed to do now?" whispered Tim, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. He briefly wondered if sleeping on top of wings was uncomfortable, but he quickly dismissed the thought again; there were more pressing matters at the moment. Like the fact that she had _wings_ to begin with!

Jason had brought the girl to the cave as fast as he could, after telling Tim what had happened, and Bruce had immediately started to clean her wounds, taking DNA samples and so on, but the machine was still working on identifying her, so they didn't have a clue what to call her and where she came from.   
It was infuriating.   
Tim rubbed his temples tiredly. Missions and bad guys he could handle, he just didn't have anything to do.

He glanced at the almost transparent skin of their newest rescue subject. He really didn't want to know what those scientists had done to her, how much agony she must have been in. It was disgusted that humans could be capable of such cruelty, especially those who devoted their lives to the field of science. They were supposed to help people by developing new, or enhancing already existing, things, like a cure for cancer or a new Batmobile prototype.  
But he had to admit that he felt a sick fascination regarding the wings. Not many people would be able to grow bones in that specific way. It was... impressive; horrible but impressive.

Jason's outburst pulled him out of his thoughts. "How can it be that almost one hundred children go missing and no one notices it?!" he boomed, turning to face his old mentor, who stood in front of the computer, eyes locked on the screen, face illuminated by the bright light, casting a long shadow on the opposite wall. "It doesn't make sense, even if they were street rats, someone has to have noticed something!"

Jason had his hands in fists at his side, shaking with anger and something close to terror. Tim couldn't blame him. The first time he'd seen the picture of one of the dead children in the newspaper, he'd felt sick, too. He didn't want to know what it was like to find one himself, seeing the grousome way the kid had been killed.  
Bruce sighed deeply and turned to face his sons. "I don't know," he admitted and Tim's face fell. If even Batman didn't know what was going on...   
"Father," interrupted Damian, before Tim could fall victim to his gloom thoughts again, "I suggest we move out and interrogate the thugs and homeless people living near the areas where the dead subjects have been found."  
The man nodded, but then shook his head, frowning deeply. "Not now, it's too late. I say we go to sleep and think about this tomorrow, I'll stay here and-"  
"No," growled Jason, straightening his back to reach Bruce's height, "You won't. You're our best shot at finding out what's going on here, so we need you fully functional. I'll stay and watch over her." He nodded his head at the sleeping girl. "I found her, she's my responsibility."   
_

There were some protests, but Jason didn't budge and so, he found himself alone, sitting on B's chair in front of the many screens lining the wall, or at least he thought so.   
A gentle and laid down on his shoulder and Jason raised his head to look into Dick's concerned blue eyes. "You okay?" Jason just snort and averted his gaze. "What do you think? I just..." He sighed. "Living on the streets, it's hard and people already look down at us- them like they're some disease. And now, sadistic _freaks_ snitch them away and turn them into guinea pigs for their experiments." He spit the last part, hate burning in his eyes. He'd always had a weak spots for children from the streets, considering his childhood...   
Dick squeezed his shoulder. "I can't say I understand what it's like to be on your own in a city like Gotham, but I know one thing: if the streets made them even half as strong as you are, then the scientists had a hard time taking them. And we're gonna find out who's behind this and why they are doing this. We're gonna put them down. I promise."  
At that, Jason smiled sadly, eyes flickering to his brother's face. "Don't make promises you can't keep, D."   
"I always keep my promises."  
And Jason felt forced to believed him.

They talked for some time, before Jason send Dick to get some sleep and the older boy grudgingly complied.   
_

Dick opened the door to his room quietly and took a deep breath, enjoying the cold air that came through the open window. For a moment he just stood there, back leaned against the wooden door, eyes closed and breathing in the cool air.   
Dick sighed and flopped down on his bed, feeling the tiredness seep into his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to relax his aching muscles. He threw a quick glance at the clock. _Well, no wonder I'm tired,_ he thought, _It's three am._

He was half asleep when his phone rang. Dick groaned annoyed and rubbed his heavy eyes, taking his phone from the nightstand. Who the hell was calling him at _three am?!_

"Hello?" He asked groggily.

" _Richard Grayson?_ " The voice was definitely male, but had a slight feminine touch to it.

"Yes? Who is this?" Dick frowned. Why did the voice sound so strangely familiar?

" _Don't you remember me?_ "

So Dick did know him. Just from where?

"I'm sorry, but _who_ are you?"

" _Where would be the_ _fun_ _in telling you?_ " An unpleasant shudder ran down Dick's spine. The voice sounded... evil. Young, yet more grousome than most. Dick narrowed his eyes and thought about just hanging up, but the stranger stopped him.

" _I_ _know_ _what you did, Grayson. I guess I_ _should_ _be thanking you, that way, I didn't have to do it myself._ "

Dick's heart tightened, even though he didn't know why. His chest felt so heavy, just like...

"No..."

" _Ah, so you've_ _figured_ _it out already._ " It sounded like he was pouting. " _But I_ _wanted to_ _tell you! Now you spoiled my surprise._ "

"I don-"

" _You know exactly_ _what_ _I'm talking about,_ _ **Robin**_."

Dick jumped out of his bed, pressing the phone nearer to his ear, as if he'd misheard, but he knew he hadn't. His heart was beating wildly and his hands shook. This was bad, really bad.

"How...?"

The guy chuckled and Dick had a feeling that, before this was over (whatever _this_ was), he'd get involved into something he'd want nothing to do with.

" _Oh, Dicky-bird._ " Dick flinched. Hearing his nickname said with such venom was something new. " _I know you, know your every thought. You're scared, because I know something that you've tried to bury under_ _smiles_ _and laughs. You're angry, but_ _not_ _at me, at yourself, for being so_ weak _and giving in, pulling the trigger._ " He spit the last words and Dick flinched again. Not because of the harsh words, but because it was all true. Whoever was on the other end of this call _really_ knew him and knew how to get under his skin, how to torture him just with words.

 _"Does your family know? Do they know that_ _they_ _have a_ murderer _amongst them?"_ There was a short pause. _"Well, two of your dear_ _siblings_ _are already killers, aren't I right. The youngest, the_ Demon Brat, _and the Hood, your_ Little Wing." He laughed. " _Really cute nicknames you got there_."

Dick ran a panicked hand through his hair. How did he know how Dick called his brothers? Their identities; one thing. But personal stuff like that...

_"Are you feeling me breathing down your neck? Down your family's neck?"_

Dick snapped. "Just tell me what the hell you want!"

He could hear satisfied laughter. _"So_ _now_ _you're_ _losing_ _your temper. I just have to_ _mention_ _your family and you snap._ _Interesting_ _."_

Dick knew that he was just mocking him and that he shouldn't let the man get under his skin, but his breaths were becoming shorter and shorter until he was nearly panting. He was having a freaking panic attack.

"Leave my family alone." Despite his racing heart, his voice sounded dangerously calm. Like the clam before the storm.

 _"Like you mine?_ "

"What?"

" _Two years ago, you killed my father."_

And then it all klicked. Joker's missing body, how someone could know their real identities, why the voice sounded so familiar...

"You're Joker's son."

_"_ _Finally_ _. And I thought you were the smart one. My name is Castor, son of Harley Quinn and The Joker."_

Dick closed his eyes, assessing that newfound piece of information.

"You want revenge."

" _No,_ _I_ _don't. My father was a_ _disease_ _. I want justice. An eye for an eye... a father for a father."_

For a second, Dick forgot to breath. "You won't be able to touch him. No matter how good you are, he's better." But even to his own ears, he didn't sound very convincing.

" _Oh, I_ _know_. _But my partner already beat him once and he'll do it again. And luckily for me_ , _he_ _still has_ _unfinished_ _business with you."_ Dick's heart missed a beat as he closed his eyes in realisation. He was inferior.

"What do I need to do for you to stay away from him."

" _Not just him. I'm pretty sure a few people in_ _Gotham_ _would_ _pay millions to hear Batman's and his little club of sidekicks'_ _identities_ _. Don't you agree?"_

Dick leaned his back against the wall. He despised blackmail.

"Why me? Why not anyone else?"

" _Because I'm not interested_ _in_ _anyone else."_

Of course not. It was always him. The first Robin, the first sidekick.

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

_"Giving up so quickly? A shame,_ _tormenting_ _you_ _is so much fun."_

Dick didn't response. He knew that he wouldn't get out of this without putting his family in danger. He took a deep breath. Dick hated begging, but he'd do it for his family.

" _Please,_ just tell me what you want from me. I'll do anything if you leave them alone."

" _Did_ _I scare you so much_ _you_ _actually_ _started_ _begging_ _? This worked out better than I imagined."_ He could practically feel the gleeful grin.   
_"You can't do anything. Just wait until we make our next move. My partner is_ _dying_ _to see you again, and honestly, so am I._  
 _I want you to jump at every_ _sound_ _, thinking that it could be me, ready to take you or one of your siblings. I want you to live in constant fear of losing everything you've worked so hard for. I_ _want_ _you to feel the horror until I come and get you. Because then, you'll be mine and no one will be able to save you, not even the Bat. Oh, and I suggest you keep this conversation to_ _yourself_ _. I've already proven that I have_ _intel_ _on_ _your_ _personal life, and you don't_ _want_ _me to let all of Gotham know who_ _their_ _heroes really are, do you?"_

"You can't-"

_"I can. Until then, I suggest you start saying your goodbyes. I will keep my_ _eyes open_ _for a little yellow-caped bird."_

"But I'm not-"

But the phone call had already ended.

"-Robin anymore," finished Dick his sentence in a whisper.

So many things didn't make sense. The man had said that he's anxious to see him _again,_ but Dick had never met the Joker's son before. And that voice, at first, he'd thought that it had sounded so familiar because of his familiarity with the Joker's, but there was something else. He had heard that voice before, which should be impossible, but he was sure of it. He already knew his new blackmailer. And now he was targeting Damian, too, because he didn't know that Dick left behind the mantle of Robin.

How could things go so wrong so fast? One mistake and his whole world comes crumbling down around him, burying him under tons of lies, blackmail and pain.

_209 hours before:_

Dick hadn't slept that night (but who'd expect him to), so, when Alfred called for breakfast, he just wanted to stay under the covers and never come out. He didn't know what to do. Dick didn't want the others to know something was wrong, because he already put them in danger by even knowing them, but he wasn't sure if he could handle this alone. A lot was at stake here, including the life of his family.  
He pushed his head deeper into the pillows when he heard light footsteps coming towards his room. Too light for Bruce, Jason or Alfred and not Tim's slightly jumpy steps. Damian.

"Grayson, am I allowed to enter?" the young boy asked, after knocking two times.  
The acrobat closed his eyes for a moment, before sitting upright and putting a sleepy smile on his face. Fake, so _so_ fake, but he had to fake from now on. "Sure, Little D."  
The door opened and Damian stepped into the room, a cute- at least from Dick's perspective- scowl on his face. "Alfred called for breakfast," he announced, standing next to the open door. Dick nodded. "I'll be there in a sec." Damian eyed him suspiciously for a second, before retreating. Dick sighed in frustration. Great, Damian was already suspicious.

He threw off the blanket he'd been snuggled into and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when his bare feet touched the cold ground.   
He had thought about going down to the Batcave and doing some research on Castor and his mysterious partner, but Jason was still down there with the silver-haired girl.

 _But my partner already beat him once and he'll do it again. And luckily for me, he still has_ _unfinished_ _business with_ _you_.

Dick had to look up all the villains that defeated Batman and also had a history with Dick himself. _That list is gonna take me some while,_ he thought sarcastically. Not many people who defeated B, but defenitifly a lot of guys and women who he shared a past with.

With another long breath, he finally hauled himself off the comfortable mattress and shuffled down the stairs.   
Once inside the kitchen, he resisted the urge to just flop down on one of the chairs, munching on some cornflakes with hunched shoulders. Instead, he put on a I'm-perfectly-fine facade and gave his family a lopsided but _so fake_ grin. "Mornin'."   
Tim, who stood next to the coffee machine, smiled back at him. "Hey, Dick."  
"Where are Jason and the girls?" the eldest bird asked, noting the absence of his little brother and two sisters.   
"Cass and Steph are shopping. They have been invited to a party by one of Stephanie's friends and are now looking for something to wear," answered Bruce, face hidden by today's newspaper. "And Jason's still downstairs. Said he wanted to stay until the girl wakes up." The man sighed. "And," he continued, "we finally got a hit on the girl's identity. Kayla Stark. Her parents, Piper and Peter Stark, died eight years ago in the crossfire of two rival gangs. She dissapeared after that, probably taken by the scientists." Bruce explained, eyes not moving from his paper. "I'm just relieved we don't have any other major threats to deal with, this feels like it's bigger than we can guess at the moment. From what I can see, the missing children are only the tip of the iceberg."  
And immediately, Dick felt guilty. He had one hell of a problem at hand, but... this was a burden he had to carry himself. For their safety. "You're right." Dick smiled. "Lucky us," he added in a whisper. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he grinned. "I'll go check on Jason."

_One hour earlier_ _in the Batcave:_

Jason had waited the whole night for the girl to wake up, sitting in Bruce's chair, pacing around the cave, playing Pac-Man... And still no sound from Ms. Wing. Until around six o'clock.   
Jason had expected her to freak out once she woke up, shuffling away from him in fear or that she would start crying, but what she did surprised him. She didn't do anything, nothing at all. But back to the start:

Jason had been dozing off in the chair next to the cot they'd laid the girl on, his mind wandering. He wondered if she had someone waiting for her to return, someone that was out there, looking for her.   
He was pulled out of his half slumber by the increasing peeping of the heart machine the girl was attached to.   
At first, Jason was disoriented, but then the fog in his mind cleared and he realized that she was waking up. He didn't really know how to act, so he just waited in his chair, watching as she was slowly gaining consciousness. First, her fingers twitched and Jason could see her eyes moving beneath pale eyelids. When her lids fluttered, Jason's breath caught in his throat and he wondered for a brief moment what color her eyes would be. The same silver-white like her long, silky hair, or the dark black of her wings that were still wrapped around her like a cocoon. A few seconds passed, the only sound was the shrill peeping of the heart monitor and then she finally opened her eyes.

Black. They had the color of the darkest night and Jason couldn't distinguish what was iris and what pupil. It was strangely fascinating and Jason couldn't avert his eyes. He'd never seen an eye-color like that before. They were mesmerizing, so dark, Jason could see his own reflection perfectly.  
Another _peep_ snapped him out of his stupor and he blinked, trying to clear his mind. And that was also the first time he realized something was wrong.

Just imagine, you were being held captive for years and had been experimented on (wings growing on your back can't be pleasant) and then you wake up, in a dark cavern, a place you don't recognize with weapons hanging on the walls. Oh, and not to mention the strange guy sitting next to you, staring at you like you were some kind of freak. Yeah, that would be enough to make even the toughest guys pee themselves.   
So naturally, Jason had expected the girl to freak out, or have some kind of bad reaction at least, but that wasn't the case.   
Instead, she laid there, unmoving, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not even blinking and the only sign she was alive was the slow rise and fall of her chest.   
And Jason didn't know what to do.  
He thought about calling her name, but remembered that he didn't know it and just calling her 'girl' wasn't a good alternative. Touching seemed bad in any way, so no lightly shaking her arm to get her attention either.  
He thought about calling the others, but Bruce would probably show no sympathy and out right interrogate her (which seemed like the worst idea of Jason's not so long list of ideas) and for some reason, he didn't want the others down here. The girl- he should really figure out her name- was his responsibility and he had to be the one getting her to talk, so he did the only thing he could do, he tried to do some small talk (just that he himself wasn't much of a small talk guy).

"Uh, hey," he started smartly, waving his hand awkwardly. The girl didn't response. "Eh, my name is Jason. We... saved you."  
Still no reaction. "Can you hear me?" As he still didn't get any sign of recognition from the girl, he pursed his lips and sighed. Maybe she was deaf? He tentatively snapped his fingers in front of her face. Still no reaction. It didn't look like she was blind, so maybe, she was just plain right ignoring him.   
This was getting him nowhere. How was he supposed to get through to her if she kept on ignoring him? With a frustrated sigh, he let his head drop in his hands, elbows propped on the armrests of his chair, his white bangs covering his eyes. He watched as they stilled after the movement of lowering his head. The color was almost similar to hers, just not as silvery. He often thought about dying them black, just like the rest of his hair, but then he always decided against it. The white bangs were a painful reminder of the agony of being resurrected and the massacre he'd caused afterwards (not that he'd apologize for that), but they were a part of him now.

A sharp intake of breath caught his attention and his head snapped back up.   
Instead of staring at the ceiling, the girl's dark eyes were now locked on the white part of his hair. Looking up at his bangs, slightly cross-eyed, Jason chewed on his lip, not really knowing what to do next. "Uh..." She didn't blink, nor acknowledged him in any other ways. "I... My hair used to be black," he finally muttered, hoping his talking would make her more comfortable. "But then, I had this... accident." Pictures of a crowbar and blood flashed through his mind. "My body was put under immense pressure, trying to... adjust. Well, the result was white hair and different coloured eyes, even though they are back to normal now." _Except the times I'm angry or on a killing spree_ , he added in his head, bitterness in his unspoken words.

He focused on the girl again, who was still staring at his hair, no emotion displaying behind those dark eyes. No confirmation that she had heard what he just said. Damn, and there he thought he was making progress.   
He jumped at the shrill peeping sound that suddenly assaulted his ears. "Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed, hand over his racing heart. Shaking his head with a slightly embarrassed smile, he turned to look at the blinking notification on the computer, still peeping incessantly. "Shut up," he grumbled, stomping towards the annoying machine and pressed the enter key. The peeping stopped. Jason looked at the file that had popped up with narrowed eyes.   
The computer finally identified the feathered girl.   
His eyes raced over the black letters, taking in ever third word or so.

_Kayla_ _Stark_ _,_ _gang war,_ _missing, parents,_ _possibly_ _kidnapped, appearance, 8 years ago, dead._

But what really caught his attention was a picture of her when she was younger. Jason knew that people changed when they grow up, the eyes weren't as blue anymore and the hair darkens, but not to this extend. Instead of black eyes, two chocolate brown stared back at him, face framed by light brown locks.   
With a start, he realized why she had been so fascinated by his hair, his white bangs in particular. 

In a rush, he was next to her again, gently turning her face to look at him. She didn't react. "Those men that kidnapped you... Kayla" he begun, searching for any kind of emotion in her almond eyes, "What they did to you... It changed you, didn't it? Not just mentally, but also your appearance. Your hair and eyes..." He slumped back in the chair still seated next to her. "Guess we're more alike then I thought." He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts.   
"I think I get why you don't talk." As his eyes flittered over her face, he saw scepticism in her eyes. She didn't believe he did. "This accident I told you about," he stopped to gulp down the lump forming in his throat. He hadn't talk about this to anyone but Dick, but if it helped her get over her fear, it was worth risking a mental breakdown later.

"I... was with a bad man, too." At that, her eyes actually focused on him. "He..." Jason took a deep breath and steeled himself to relive the most scarring event in his life. "He encouraged me to scream and beg, but being defiant or insolent was a big no-no." He chuckled darkly, eyes far away. "Everything that made him feel more powerful was a go, everything else..." He shuddered as phantom pain ripped through his body. "I learned the hard way not to talk back." His hand shook slightly as he ran it through his unruly hair. "So yeah, I get why you don't wanna talk, but you don't have to be afraid to talk to me. And I can prove it." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in question.   
Jason felt a strange sense of relieve that he was finally getting somewhere. She was at least acknowledging him now.

He stood up and grabbed Tim's phone that still laid on the table- the kid had been looking for it for two hours now, but watching him through the cameras that showed the manor, running around and crawling under beds and tables, was just too much fun.   
He unlocked the phone- his password was Stephanie- and looked for the video feed from his helmet camera. It had been transmitted to Tim's phone live and showed how he had rescued Kayla from the cage she had been put in. "Ha!" He exclaimed, once he found what he had been looking for. He went back to sit next to her, her head fully turned to him now, eyes not so lifeless anymore. "This is the video feed of your rescue. I found you and brought you here. I'm not the enemy," he assured her and pressed play.

Throughout the whole thing, Kayla didn't avert her eyes, but watched with fierce intensity. After it was over and Jason had hidden Tim's phone inside the tires of the Batmobile- what? The brat had it coming after dying his white bangs neon pink- he settled down next to Kayla once again. "So you see, I'm only trying to help, but you gotta _let_ me help you. I understand that it's not easy to trust anyone after being held captive for so long, but you can trust me. I _want_ to help."

He waited for her answer, body tense in anticipation. And then she talked, her voice hoarse and quite from being out of order for so long. "How can you trust someone after being unable to do so for so long?"   
Jason chewed on his bottom lip, racking his brain for an answer. Finally, with a defeated sigh, he answered, "I don't know. But if I did it, so can you. After the... Well, after being hurt, I didn't trust anyone for a long time. I didn't trust the people I once called family and friends. I did some real messed up stuff, but now... I started to trust them again, even though only very slowly. But they forgave me, and after some time... I forgave myself. And that was my way of recovery, squaring what I did with my conscience. I can't tell you what your way is, but I know that you'll find it. After all, I did, too."

She was silent for a moment, considering his words and then, slowly and painfully, sat up, stretching her wings to either side of the bed. She turned her body, finger ghosting over the black feathers, watching in amazement as they shimmered silvery under her touch. It was a beautiful sight. "I was never able to actually use them," she confessed, voice quiet and tired. Jason suspected she would fall asleep soon. "I... I saw them as a curse," she continued, "But... they are beautiful."  
Jason nodded in agreement, smiling faintly. She was finally opening up and coming out of her comfort zone. "I-" Coughs racked her body and she winced. "Do you want something to drink?" Jason offered, wondering when she last drank or ate something.   
After a short moment of hesitation, she nodded, eyeing him carefully. Jason got up, filling a glass with cold water and returned, only to see Kayla sound asleep, wings wrapped around her like a cocoon once again. He watched her for a second, before the urge to yawn took hold of him. He had been awake for the whole night and half of the day, maybe he should follow her example and get a good piece of sleep himself. He left the water on the chair next to her in case she woke up and, with a sudden wave of nausea, dragged himself up the stairs. Yeah, sleep sounded very good right now.

_203 hours before:_   
_Wayne Manor's_ _kitchen_

Lunch at the Manor was always a challenge. And not only because all present people had different tastes, but it also almost every time ended in a full blown food fight. But, today was different. Maybe it was the shock or just the bone deep tiredness, but they didn't act like they usually would and Damian could practically feel Alfred's worry. He, for one part, was actually happy about some quiet time. He could eat without having to watch flying knives and forks and plates and everything that was even remotely throwable.

With Todd still asleep, Drake sulking because he couldn't find his phone, Father eating and Grayson lost in his thoughts, there was beautiful silence. But, despite enjoying the peace, Damian couldn't help but worry about Grayson. His big brother had been acting weird since the morning and Damian just couldn't imagine why. This wasn't the first case that made him question if creatures like Killer Crock were the real monsters. But it had never affected the eldest like this before. He had barely eaten anything this morning and now, he was just pushing his food around, eyes somewhere far away.

Damian sighed. Grayson was the brother he admittedly liked the most, meaning that he liked him at least a little bit, and he was annoyed that he had softened so much he actually worried now. His mother would be so disappointed in him.  
A plan formed in his mind. Maybe, Grayson was just tired or freaked out by the whole scientists-expreiment-on-kids-to-grow-wings thing and it was nothing serious, but there was only one way to find out.  
"Grayson?" he asked, ignoring the other heads that were raised, too. "I require your assistance with my homework this afternoon." He kept on ignoring the surprised stares of the others (he never ask for help in front of everyone) and watched his older brother carefully.

He seemed conflicted for some reason and then an apologetic smile grazed his features. "I'm sorry, Little D, but I have some research to do."   
Damian's and everyone else's eyes widened. Dick never turned Damian down like this, not if he was asking for help. That was all the confirmation Damian needed. This wasn't just the lack of sleep or the case, something was seriously wrong with his brother.   
Grayson, who squirmed under the attention of everyone's stares, muttered, "I should start right now. I'll be in the cave." And then he quickly, almost as if he was fleeing from them, left the kitchen.

"You tested him," concluded Bruce the second Grayson was gone. Damian nodded. "Something his wrong with him, father."  
Bruce threw a thoughtful glance at the door Dick had run through. "Yes... something's wrong," he muttered almost to himself, but Damian heard him anyway and his worry increased.

_203 hours before:_   
_Batcave_

Dick felt slightly guilty for letting Damian down like that, but he had to figure out who this 'partner' of Castor was, so he went straight to the computer, quickly glancing at the sleeping girl- Kayla, he remembered- and hacked into the mainframe of the Justice League computer. They had files on every member, and that meant they had also files on the enemies that had been able to defeat them. Opening Batman's file, he went straight to the classified information, taking a minute to hack his way past the security and opening the files of Batman's most dangerous opponents.

"Defeated, defeated," he muttered, looking for the right key to press. "There!" He winced. That had been louder than he intended it to be. He quickly glanced at Kayla, but she was still sleeping, a tight frown on her face. Dick returned his attention to the monitor, opening the files he'd been looking for.

His eyes scanned the first page.   
**Bane, aka. Eduardo Dorrance**  
"He broke Batman's back," mused Dick, "But no personal beef with me." He frowned. "Well, aside from the typical hero vs villain stuff." He shook his head. Bane was a possibility, but he hoped it wasn't him, he really didn't have time for a muscle-monster right now.

 **Clayface** **, aka. Basil Karlo**  
"Please not the slimy guy." Dick muttered, face scrunched up in a disgusted grimace. Clayface was a dangerous villain, but honestly, Dick somehow doubted it was him.

Finger hovering over the keyboard, he jumped when he heard glass shatter. Spinning around, he saw Kayla, staring at him with wide terrified eyes. "Hey, hey," he soothed, hands up and in front of him to show he was unarmed. "No need to worry, I'm a friend." She didn't move, just kept on watching him.   
Then she asked, "You're Richard, right?" He nodded. "Jason told me about you." He nodded again, but a strange feeling knotted his stomach into a small ball. But then again, he had had that feeling the whole day, so it probably didn't mean anything. "Are you okay?" he asked, giving her a once over. She bobbed her head slightly and laid back down, arms wrapped around her chest.

"I... There were two men." Dick frowned. Here, in the cave? "Where?"   
She averted her eyes. " _There._ Where the men in white suits held me." And Duck understood, mouth shaping an 'O'. "They often came to supervise," she continued, her small frame quivering slightly. "One always stayed in the shadows. He never talked and I never saw more than his silhouette." She shuddered. "He was big, but defenitifly human. He scared me. But the other guy, he..." She audibly gulped. "He killed them for fun. Just because he wanted to. He laughed while slitting the lab coat-men's throats." She shuddered again and Dick himself felt cold all of a sudden. "Did you get his name?" He asked, voice sharp as a knife. She nodded and closed her eyes and as she spoke again, her voice was heavy with sleep. "C-castor, I think. I just thought you should know, I forgot to tell Jason." And then she was asleep again, leaving a shell-shocked Dick to stand there alone, mouth agape.

So Castor was behind this, too? Why? It didn't make any sense. He thought this was some sort of personal vendetta against him, or was that just a cover for his operation in Gotham? He averted his eyes from Kayla, feeling a sudden sense of guilt. If this was some act of revenge against him, than all those children... No, he couldn't even finish the thought. He furiously blinked away tears and turned back to the computer. He needed more information. He needed to know the name of the alley of that maniac. Asap.

Human shaped ruled out Clayface.

 **Kobra** **, aka. Jeffrey Franklin Burr**  
Dick groaned. Probably not. That guy didn't have a history with him. Next.

 **Talon**  
Dick shuddered. No, just no. He really couldn't deal with the Court of Owls right now (or ever). He'd heard stories from Bruce about them, terrible stories, and he wasn't planning on meeting them.

The next name earned a small chuckle.

 **Red Hood, aka. Jason Todd**  
"Yeah, obviously not."

He ruled out the next two subjects, too, them being **Wonder Woman** and **Superman,** also for obvious reason.

He hesitated at the next name.   
**Ra's al Guhl**  
Now, the demon's head defenitifly was an option. He had been obsessed with his family since forever, wanting Bruce as his heir and all. Dick sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand.   
It would make more sense if Ra's would target the others though. Damian was his grandson, Tim was the most like Batman and Ra's had always had a sick fascination with him, Cassandra's background and Jason's resurrection made them the more obvious targets. But then again, maybe he was being used to get to the others?

_Because I'm not interested_ _in_ _the anyone else._

_Don't you remember me?_

No, this was about him. He wasn't just a pawn in someone else's game of chess, he was the king. The white king. He just wasn't sure who the black king was yet. Castor or this partner of his. Dick groaned as he realized that he was getting wrapped up in the game Castor was playing. If the madman really was part of the organization that turned children into whatever you want to call them, then this was more than a simple act of revenge or possession. Maybe he should tell Bruce.

_Oh, and I suggest you keep this conversation to_ _yourself_ _. I've already proven that I have_ _intel_ _on_ _your_ _personal life, and you don't_ _want_ _me to let all Gotham know who_ _their_ _heroes really are, do you?_

A long and deep sigh left Dick's lips. He couldn't tell anyone, not with the string of lies and blackmail around his neck. One wrong step and he'd hang himself and everyone else probably, too.

 **Deathstroke, aka. Slade Wilson.**  
Dick's breath caught in his throat. He sure as hell had a history with Slade Wilson, but Dick couldn't imagine him working with someone like Castor. And Wilson couldn't still want revenge for what had happened all those years ago, right? Dick shook his head. No, no one holds a grudge for that long and Deathstroke had better things to do than torment him.

 **Lady Shiva, aka. Sandra Wu-San**  
Dick's eyes narrowed as a thought crossed his mind. Lady Shiva was known for travelling and challenging the world's greatest fighters, but, even though he knew that he was outstanding good when it came to material arts, he was nowhere near her league. He couldn't imagine that she would take an interest in him, especially with fighters like Cass and Bruce in the same household.

He carried on to the next file, only to stare in the face of Bane again. "That's it?!" he exclaimed, somewhat shocked that only those few villains managed to defeat Batman. Sure, B. was good, but he was still only human. Dick shook his head in disappointment. This research may have narrowed down the list of suspects, but he didn't necessarily liked the result. The top three villains he'd picked were Ra's al Guhl, Deathstroke and admittedly Bane, after all, Dick had messed with his operations as Robin a lot. But he couldn't really imagine him working with Castor. Bane was a shoot first, or in his case smash first, ask questions later guy, whereas Castor seemed to have planned this through. His goal was to make Dick suffer mentally, to walk him towards the edge, before leaving him there to decide, jump or turn back, knowing that, if he twisted his fingers inside Dick's mind just right, he'd take the first option, and that was more Ra's al Ghul's or Deathstroke's MO.   
Dick's fist met the table with a thud. "Damn!"   
He was completely helpless right now.

_192 hours before:_   
_Midnight_   
_Old Gotham Factory district_   
_On patrol_

Damian Wayne had had a long day. And no, it hadn't had anything to do with hero related business, or anything abnormal. No, it actually was an evil every boy and girl his age had to deal with: homework. Homework sucks. Sadly, asking Grayson for help hadn't only been meant as a test, he'd really needed help with his math assignment. But, not wanting to ask his father, or god forbid, his other siblings, he'd done it by himself, which was a disaster and ended in a lot of broken pens. He'd hoped to talk to his oldest brother on patrol, but Dick had been out of it for the whole day, so father forbid him and Todd, who had still been half asleep, to go.

Strangely enough, Grayson had put up one hell of a fight to go with Damian, for a reason the young boy couldn't quite grasp, but in the end, Dick had submitted to their father's burning glare, and told Damian to be extra careful this night.   
But that wasn't the only reason for Damian's sore mood (not that he hadn't been in a sore mood all day), but his father had insisted on leaving his Katana at home, because he had been- according to Bruce- too aggressive to be trusted with a sword tonight. - _Tt-_. So he had to relay on his other gadgets.

Anyways, now he sat (not sulking at all) on the ledge of a rooftop, overlooking the abondened factory buildings. It was a rather grim sight, grey and black wherever he looked. The streets were deserted, except for a lonely stray dog. Taking pity on him, Damian fired his grappling gun and landed gracefully on the floor, doing a roll to mitigate the impact with the rough ground. He slowly advanced the animal, taking off his hood to appear less threatening.   
The dog looked at him with big brown eyes, carefully trotting closer. Damian extended his hand, crouching down and it sniffed at it, and then licked Damian's fingers, leaving drool dripping off the twelve year old's hand. Damian made a disgusted but somewhat fond face, shaking the spit off his glove and using his other one to ruffle the dark fuzzy fur.

The animal made a pleased sound, rubbing his head against the side of Damian's face, purring like a cat. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" Damian asked thoughtfully, a comfortable sigh leaving his lips. "Why can't humans be like animals? Then maybe I could actually tolerate them."

He cuddled- not that he'd ever call it that- with the dog some more, before its behaviour drastically changed. From being comfortable and cosy, the dog- Damian dubbed him Frank- suddenly became agitated, growling in random directions. Damian narrowed his eyes and slowly, calculating, stood back up. He learned to trust his instincts and they were screaming at him to get off the God damn street. Down there, he was at a disadvantage. He looked back at Frank, only to see him running away, tail between his legs and feeping pathetically.

Straightening, Damian pulled his hood back up, shrouding his face in shadows. He once again wished to feel the secure weight of his sword in his hands. He took out his grabbing gun and fired at the nearest building, swinging up to the rooftop.   
He landed in a crouch, carefully observing his surroundings. He could feel someone's eyes on him, but pretended to not notice, letting the Batarang he had hidden in his right sleeve fall into his hand, unseen by anyone else. He walked across the building, keeping a casual pace, eyes flickering left and right behind the mask, but he couldn't detect anyone in the darkness of the night. But he could hear.

Whoever was stalking him may be good at staying unseen in the shadows, but Damain's sense of hearing was able to make out the slightest of sounds, even his father sometime didn't manage to sneak up on him. It was one of the many lessons he'd learned from his mother: Hearing is the most important sense.   
_Always know where your enemy is,_ she'd said, _even_ _if_ _you can't see him._  
And he'd mastered that task with bravo. So he knew that the man or woman following him, was somewhere behind him to his left, keeping a 13 feet distance.

Damian appeared to be looking over the edge of the building, oblivious to the threat lurking behind him. It was an easy tactic, lull the opponent into a false sense of security and surprise him with a smooth deflection of the attack that's supposed to be a surprise attack. And whoever was his attacker fell for his trap.

When the first blow came, Damian swiftly dodged, rolling to his right and away from the edge, throwing his attacker momentarily off balance.   
When the guy- he was defenitifly masculine- turned to face him, Damian took in his appearance, not sure where on his list of dangerous people he should place him. The guy looked young, early twenties maybe, but with hard features and, most importantly, blue hair. Damian seriously considered scolding him for something so stupid. A feature like that could have easily been used to identify someone. The man seemed to scan him, too, frowning at something.

"You're not _him_ ," he stated, his voice was high for a man, but cold as ice. Damian narrowed his eyes, his defensive position tightening. "I do not know what you are talking about," he growled, shifting his weight to the left, seeing as the man had done the same. It would be easier to dodge an attack that way. The blue haired man huffed in disgust. "You don't deserve to wear his name and his colours." His voice dripped with venom and Damian forced back a deep growl. The guy was talking about Grayson. "What is your business with me?" he asked instead, trying to find out more about him. The man's lip curled into a cruel smile and a snarl appeared on Damian's face, a very intimidating snarl for a twelve year old. His mysterious attacker chuckled coldly, "I was hoping to meet him, but I guess his replacement will do, too. Attacking you will most certainly have the same effect. It's just a shame I won't have a real challenge tonight." His mocking tone set Damian on edge. "I am more than qualified to take you down, imbecile."  
The man laughed, eyeing him sceptically, like he was some insolent child. "Go home to mommy and get a diaper change, kid. I have been trained by the best."  
Damian smirked, knife now visible in his hand, glinting dangerously in the pale moonlight. "So have I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna start of with a fight, so be excited and feel free to comment cause writing fighting scenes is a bitch.


	4. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian gets pulled into a violent fight and the Young Justice team is assigned a new mission. Uff, and a kidnapping, I totally forgot about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that there hasn't been any Young Justice so far, but that's gonna change soon. It takes place sometime after season 2 and before season 3, so Aqualad is team leader again, Wally is dead 😭, Bart is Kid Flash and Artemis is Tigress, THE MOUNTAIN'S NOT DESTROYED! and so on. 

_191 hours before (8 days):_  
 _1 in the_ _morning_

From the beginning of their fight, Damian knew that Castor had underestimated him. The way he'd arrogantly challenged him, the way he looked down on Robin like Damian was below him and his choice of words, like he was talking to a little kid. But, as much as Damian hated to admit it, the same went for him.

He'd underestimated Castor's determination to crush him. But Damian was known to be a dangerous enemy. Sure, he's only been Robin for two years and Robin was known as Batman's child-sidekick, running around like a traffic light, but Damian wasn't just Bruce Wayne's son, or Batman's son, or even Robin, Damian was an assassin, heir to the demon and the most skilled Robin, not even Grayson had been as good of a fighter at his age. He was the grandson of Ra's al Guhl and he wouldn't lose to some scumbag looking for an easy win.

He still cursed Bruce for forbidding him to bring his _Katana_ , his well-known weapon.  
Damian had to decide between Batarangs and brass knuckles now. From his enemy's movements, it was clear that Castor was agile and strong, but not overly muscled, probably well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, so Damian decided to keep his distance and use his own speed and size to get in quick hits and then be out of reach in a matter of seconds. It was a tactic he used on opponents like Todd, foes who were bigger and stronger than him, thus slower.

He slipped four Batarangs from his sleeve, two in each hand and readied himself to throw, eyes never leaving the man's crouched form. "Usually, I know the names of the imbeciles I beat up," he smirked, satisfied as his opponent sneered. "Do they know your name, too?"  
"Everybody knows my name," Damian replied, a hint of arrogance lacing his words. The man laughed darkly, fury burning in his cold eyes. "Naming yourself and dressing yourself like _him_ doesn't mean you are him. You are not Robin, you're a pretender, a little boy hiding behind a legend."

At that, Damian growled, fingers clenching around the Batarangs. Yes, Grayson had brought Robin to life, but Damian continued his legacy and this low life thug had no right to judge him, had no right to pull his pride through the dirt like that. And Damian didn't tolerate people who tried to humiliate him. He was Damian Wayne, but he was also an al Ghul and he'd show that wanna-be villain what kind of Robin he was.

He was no Dick Grayson, he didn't hesitate to seriously hurt his enemies, to maim or kill (okay, maybe he did hesitate with that last one nowadays) but he hadn't unlearned it. He knew how to cause the most pain without drawing much blood, he knew which body parts to hit to paralyze someone and he still knew how to kill with one easy flick of his wrist.   
A bone-chilling smile spread across his face. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."  
The older scoffed, scepticism radiating off his body. "You're what, ten? What chance do you stand against a grown man, _kiddo?_ "

As Damian's smile didn't waver, the man seemed to grow uneasy, waiting for a response, but Damian just twirled the Batarangs in his right hand once and flashed him a sharp grin. _I'm_ _twelve_ _, you imbecile,_ he corrected in his head, before sending the four Batarangs flying all at once. He didn't wait to see if the man could dodge them or not, pulled two more out of his utility belt and attacked.

Castor ducked and rolled to the side, twisting his body to let the Batarangs fly past him, but one sliced a deep gash in his calf, while another grazed his left biceps, blood slowly soaking his long sleeve shirt. Damian saw him grit his teeth at the pain. Robin tensed and readied himself to jump as the man took two daggers from his belt to counter attack.   
_

Castor had barely enough time to readjust his stance as the boy flew at him with lightning speed, Batarangs glinting sharp in his hands. He ducked as Not-robin, he was not gonna accept any other Robin than Dick Grayson, sliced through the air where his head had been only minutes ago, and shot his left arm forwards, while twisting to his right, and caught the boy's wrist before he could stab his Axillary artery, which would cause him to bleed out if not attended to.  
The kid- Castor really needed to call him something... how about Dave, let's call him Dave- send a powerful kick that hit its mark right between Castor's legs and hit him with an uppercut, successfully making him release his other hand. Not wanting to be beaten by someone called Dave, Castor swung his legs across the rooftop, hoping to knock the kid off his feet, but he did a hand-spring backwards and landed gracefully and eyed him with guarded eyes.

With a start, Castor realized something. Dave was skilled. Not just the average ten-year-old-vigilante skilled, but trained-from-birth skilled. This boy was different from all the others. He went for the kill, probably something he grew up with. Castor smirked. That was something he could use.   
"So, how come a boy your age knows how to fight like that?"  
Instead of answering, Dave- seriously, that name was fitting- came at him again, feigning a right hook to the chin, but aiming lower in the last second and hitting Castor in the chest. Pain blossomed from where the gloved fist had met his flesh, and Castor stumbled backwards, trying to breath deeply. The kid was getting on his nerves.   
"C'mon, don't ignore me, I just wanna talk," he whined and blocked Dave's incoming right fist with his right underarm and did a 360 degrees spin and let the back of his hand connect with the side of the kid's head, knocking him down and sending him rolling a few feet away.   
"Kids these days," he sighed, "No respect for their elders."   
To his unwilling amazement, Dave just shook his head, as if trying to clear it of any dizziness, and raised back to his feet, blood trailing down the side of his head. With a scowl, he reached back and pulled his hood back up, which had gotten knocked down during the fight.

"You're gonna regret that," he growled and Castor took a subconscious step back. Looking like this, face all bloody, hood covering his eyes and Batarangs gleaming between his fingers, the boy reminded him of some dark force of nature, not a small pre-teen who wore spandex and leggings.  
"No, I won't." He took a slow step towards the ledge of the building, eyes trained on the sidekick. "This will be enough for now. Until next time, Dave."   
And with that, he jumped.  
_

When Robin reached the edge of the rooftop, the man was already gone. Growling, he clenched his fists, ignoring the pounding in his head. "Who's Dave?!" He screamed, frustration evident in his voice. Why did he let him get away? And the man's fighting style... It felt familiar, like Cass' or _his..._  
Scowling, Damian made his way to the ground and looked at the horizon, where the sun was peeking through the buildings. Time to return home.

The second he entered the cave, something big and lean and brother-y enfulged him in a hug. "Get off of me, Grayson," he spit, shoving at his brother, but the athlete didn't budge and Damian tutted, squirming out of the unwanted sign of affection.

"What happened?!" exclaimed the elder anxiously, once he saw the dried blood coating the side of his head. Damian took off his hood and glared at the others, who were already back from patrol. His thoughts were running wild and he closed his eyes to restore some order in his head. He let the last hour replay before his inner eye, trying to make sense of what had happened. Something about all of this bothered him, his eyebrows knitting in a tight scowl. It wasn't uncommon that Robin was attacked in Gotham, but most opponents weren't trained fighters with moves only taught by the League of Shadows. And it was also common knowledge that there had been two Robins, after all, Damian's fighting style, weapons and especially his body stature were different from Grayson's, so it didn't take much to figure out that the Robin mantle had been passed on. But obviously, his attacker hadn't known, which could mean he was either oblivious to obvious facts, hadn't been in Gotham for over two years, or he had been left in the dark intentionally by a third party.  
And then Grayson's strange behaviour this evening, when he'd thrown a tantrum about not wanting to let Damian go out by himself.

Damian's pricing eyes narrowed at his brother and he asked, trying to keep his voice levelled, "I think it is strange for you to show such obvious discomfort with me patrolling alone, even though I am qualified to do so. Of course, it would make sense, if you knew something was about happen."   
Grayson seemed to shrink in on himself and squirmed under his siblings' sharp eyes, not meeting their questioning gazes. Damian recognized with growing dread that Grayson was ashamed, his body language basically telling them that something was wrong, that he was hiding something.  
"I was just worried, because I couldn't come with you," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice from betraying his nervousness. "I am very well able to defend myself and this was not the first time I patrolled without anyone _supervising_ me," Damian responded, scoffing at Grayson's obvious lie. "And you are aware of that, Grayson. Something is wrong with you," he stated, crossing his arms, voice tight with anger and worry (not that he'd ever say that out loud).

"The man that attacked me was surprised that it was not you under the mask _._ He said some interesting things. You'll explain what is going on," he demanded, voice rising.  
To everyone's surprise (and worry), Dick had retreated a few steps during Damian's angry speech, face turning white as a sheet. A faint tremor took hold of his hands and his eyes flickered from person to person. _He looks like a cornered animal,_ Damian thought, eyeing the first Robin closely.  
Dick, seemingly not knowing what else to do, hissed, "Leave me alone," and bolted.

The cave was left in silence for a tense moment, until Todd, glaring at everybody who'd even think of standing in his way, stomped after his older brother, wrinkles of concern on his forehead.  
Father sighed and sat down on his chair, looking like he wanted to do nothing more than run after his son himself, and Drake, Cain, Brown and Pennyworth (when did he come down to the Cave?) all looked at Damian for an explanation.   
"I was on patrol, when I felt someone following me," he began, shrugging out of his cape, "it was a man, early twenties, lean, with blue hair. He attacked me, but I managed to fight him off. His fighting style was close to that of the League. We fought. In the end, he escaped."   
_

Cass watched Damian carefully, seeing what others couldn't. When he said the last sentence, his whole body language screamed _failure_. The way his eyes darted through the room, how he was glaring at everyone but Bruce, keeping his body in the direction of the steps that led out of the Cave... he was expecting to be scolded for his failure, for letting the man get away. He felt insecure.   
Cass, knowing the League's way of dealing with failures and that the lessons they teach always linger in the back of one's head, slowly stepped forward and laid a hand on Damian's arm, smiling once and then stepping back again.   
_

Damian didn't slap her hand away, nor did he sneer at her. He just let it happen, surpassing a small, non-existent smile. Even though he hated to admit that he did feel... out of place sometimes, Cain understood, and she showed it in ways only he could detect and he was greatful for that. No one else needed to know.

_189 hours before:_   
_Dick's room_

Jason stood before Dick's door, unsure if he should knock or not. Ever since the whole Joker fiasco, Dick and he hadn't kept any secrets from one another, but Dick was hiding something and Jason wanted to know what. He might be the rogue bat, but he was still part of the Batfamily and that meant being there for each other... okay, he did try to kill Tim once, but that was totally justified.   
Instead of knocking- seriously, who needed good manners?- he just barged right into the room, slamming the door against the wall. "Okay, Dickhead, what put a twist in your pants?"  
Jason frowned when he found the room empty. "Great," he groaned, noticing the open window.   
Stomping over to it, he peered outside and twisted his head to look up at the roof, detecting his brother's silhouette near the edge. He rolled his eyes and started climbing out of the window, grumbling that he was _not_ a freaking monkey.

"Nice view," he said quietly, sitting down next to Dick, letting his eyes travel over the quiet city. Usually, Gotham was never quiet, especially not at night, but Wayne Manor lay outside of the heart of the city and the only sound was the wind rustling through the surrounding trees. Gotham appeared almost peaceful, with the soft lights and bright moon, shining in the dark of the night.

Dick shrugged his shoulders. "I come here often. To think, mostly."  
Jason nodded, his eyes still trained on the city he was born in. "I know."  
There was a moment of silence and Jason sneaked a glance at Dick's pale face, noticing the creases of worry on his forehead and the tightly pressed-together lips. "What was that down there?" he finally asked, trying to keep his voice causal, kicking the wall with his feet lightly.   
"Nothing," replied the older boy, an edge to his voice. Jason frowned and turned to fully face him. "That's a whole load of shit and I'm not buying it. Something's been bugging you since yesterday and this attack on the Demon Brat only made it worse. And the way you acted before patrol, that wasn't normal either. Damian is a friggin' assassin and has been out on his own before, but you acted like he was some kid who shouldn't be out there on his own. You knew exactly what would happen, didn't you?"

He breathed loudly at the end of his rant, looking at Dick in expection. He could see the battle going on inside his brother's head and as Dick just shook his dark strands and muttered, "Doesn't matter", Jason felt his heart clench. Admittingly, Dick lying to him hurt.

He scoffed. "Right, 'cause Robin getting hurt doesn't matter. You do realize that that guy was aiming for you, right?"  
For some time, Dick said nothing, and Jason was brooding, glaring at the distance. "C'mon, Dick, I want to help!"  
"You can't," sighed Dick and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess it's pointless hiding that something's wrong," he continued, glancing at Jason, "But I can't tell you, I'm sorry."  
Jason breathed deeply, closing his eyes with a resigned sigh. "Can't or won't?"  
"Can't," clarified Dick, pulling his knees to his chest. "I want to tell you, Jay, damnit, I want to tell all of you, but I can't, you have to believe me, please."

Jason's eyes were sad when he looked at his brother. "Fine." But nothing was fine. If Dick couldn't tell them what was bothering him, it was either only concerning him and he didn't want any help (something Nightwing related, probably), or someone asked, or rather told, him not to tell anyone else, or he felt like he had to carry the weight of whatever was happening on his own to protect his family (or because he messed up and didn't want to drag the others into his mess). Jason didn't know which one was worse.

_187 hours before:_   
_Batcave_

Eventually, Jason and Dick had rejoined the group and Dick had given Damian a minute long apology-hug (Damian had looked like he wanted to die) and Bruce had decided to send Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass and Steph to Mount Justice, saying they would be safer there and he'd watch over Kayla, who Alfred had moved to a guest bedroom.

Dick hadn't seen the team since... since Wally's death. It was strange, going back now. He could feel the worried glances of his siblings on the back of his head and took a deep breath, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. "Do they know we're coming? And are they even awake? It's like 5 in the morning."  
Bruce nodded and said, "Get ready to leave in an hour."  
The man grabbed Jason's arm on his way out. "Look after Dick, something is wrong with him."  
Jason gave a curt nod and Bruce let him go, eyebrows knitted together in worry.

_186 hours before:_   
_Mount Justice_

Artemis was sitting on the table, freshly baked cookies next to her. The team was gathered in the kitchen, waiting for the bats to arrive. It had been a shock to everybody, hearing that Nightwing would return, especially since Batman didn't give any proper reason, just a "You need all hands on deck for the next mission" and that was it. Artemis sighed sadly, remembering why Dick had left in the first place. She hoped his return would change her sour mood, after all, they had been a team far longer than the current Young Justice team. After figuring out who Bruce Wayne and his family really were, the boys had joined them and after some time, so did Barbara as Batgirl. It shook them all to the core to hear what happened to Babs, but they welcomed Steph as the new Batgirl and Cassandra as Orphan and Barbara came to visit occasionally (wheelchair-bound, but it was better than the alternative).

And after they'd defeated the Reach and Nightwing had left, the other Batkids grew distant and acted more in Gotham, only joining the team when needed, not hanging out in the Mountain anymore.  
Her gaze travelled over Kaldur, Megan, Connor, Bart, Gar, Jaime and Cassie. She sighed again, realizing that Kaldur was the only founding member left and Connor, Megan and herself the last remaining members of the original team.

 _174_ _hours_ _before:_  
 _6 pm_

The bats had arrived around 12 hours ago and the teens had tried to at least catch a few more hours of sleep before starting their day. After lunch, they'd all gathered around the couch, Connor watching static on TV again, and Nightwing had filled them in on the shit that has been going on in Gotham. Of course, Artemis had heard rumours and had seen the news, but no one actually knew why those dead kids kept popping up on the streets. She'd seen parents forbidding their children to go outside and play, too afraid of what was going on. Some suspected a serial killer, others aliens and still others had theories about secret government experiments, which was apparently not as far from the truth as she'd thought.   
And now, Batman was assigning them for a new mission.

"This," he said, pointing at a video file of the Happy Harbor docks, "was recorded yesterday night at 11:54 pm." He pressed the play button and Artemis narrowed her eyes, trying to see on the dark. There were tankers, a few yachts and some small boats, rocking peacefully back and forth on the mostly calm water. Artemis saw a shadow from the corner of her eyes and snarled as she realized that it was a member of the League of Shadows.   
"Is that...?" asked Megan and Batman nodded, silencing her again and telling them to keep watching. The assassin was hiding behind some crates, watching the captain of one of the smaller, inconspicuous looking boats.  
  
Artemis averted her eyes milliseconds before the blade slit the man's throat. Gar made a choked off sound. Batman stopped the video and turned his attention back to the team. "After killing the captain, he stole his boat and took it somewhere. Flash got the intel that a huge shipment will arrive at one of those three points," he pointed at three different places along the docks. "We don't know where said shipment will dock at and I want you to oversee all three locations and prevent the League from getting that shipment. You already know what the ship looks like, so it shouldn't be too hard to find."

_172 hours before:_   
_The docks_

Damian was perched on top of one of the yachts lining the docks (He was pretty sure at least three were his father's) and kept a close eye on his surroundings. Since they were assigned for this mission, he had been wondering what his mother and grandfather were planning. Usually, the League liked to keep to itself, forging their own weapons and growing their own food. If they went to this lengths, then they _really_ wanted whatever was on that ship.

He could see Grayson's still form on the rooftop to his right. Kaldur had decided that he himself, Robin, Nightwing, Superboy and Blue Beetle were α-squad. β-squad consisted of Red Hood, Red Robin, Miss Martian, Beast Boy and Wonder Girl. Damian pursed his lips. Putting Drake and Todd on the same team was a huge risk considering Todd's temper.   
Orphan, Batgirl, Tigress and Kid Flash were γ-squad.

His team had split into two separate groups, watching their part of the docks from different warehouses. Behind him sat Blue Beetle, while Superboy and Aqualad were with Nightwing. Probably for old time's sake. For thirty minutes, they had been keeping watch now and Damian usually had no problem with long stake outs, but Beetle's constant questions were giving him a headache.

He chose to ignore the older boy and concentrated on the mission. "What does the Robin suit feel like?" No answer.  
"Are you older than Nightwing when he became Robin?" Again, he ignored him.  
"Why are you so serious?" Damian groaned inwardly, but kept a cool facade, not betraying his annoyance.  
"We have a mission to finish and your concentration lays elsewhere when you are talking to me, so shut up and keep looking for Leaguers."  
"JLA members?"  
"No, you imbecile, League of Shadows members."   
Sometimes Damian wondered where Beetle had lost his brain.  
The boy nodded, grinning sheepishly. "Right, sorry. I'm just happy to have the band back together. Didn't get to see y'all for some time."

Damian rolled his eyes, face hidden by his hood. "Gotham was busy," he replied shortly, not trying to hide his irritation. Blue was getting on his nerves and Robin wished he could just do this on his own. He knew the League better than anyone and they wouldn't dare kill him, not with who his grandfather was.   
"I got visual contact with our assassins," came Aqualad's voice over the comms and Robin focused his eyes on the shadows thrown by crates and ships, trying to detect movement. His gaze settled on three hidden figures right below them and he signalled Blue Beetle to be quiet. He glanced over at the other half of their team and saw the three older heroes jump down from the building, Aqualad using his water bearers to soften the fall and Nightwing swinging on a grappling line.   
They didn't make a sound.

Robin waved Beetle closer, pointing at the three and then at the ground and Jaime nodded, extending his wings as Robin took out his own grappling gun, readjusting his cape and hood.  
They waited until Aqualad, Superboy and Nightwing were close enough for them to be spotted and jumped down, right as their targets attacked.

It should have been an easy fight, three against five, and at first, things seemed to go smoothly. Robin and Blue Beetle attacked at once, the older boy sending a sonar blast at one assassin, making him crash right into Robin's waiting fist. He crumbled to the floor out cold. Nightwing and Aqualad took on the second opponent, while Connor spotted the boat they had been waiting for and Kaldur motioned him to take out any possible threats. Beetle and Robin turned to the last assassin, just as he send a kick at Damian's head. He ducked and swept his leg across the floor, trying to knock the man off his feet, but he jumped back, twisting to the side to avoid Blue's blade-arms,and threw a knife at the blue superhero's chest. Beetle easily swatted it away, but the Shadow managed to land a solid kick to his side, sending the teen crashing into some crates.

Seeing the man distracted, Damian quickly pulled out a Batarang and threw it. The assassin twisted out of the way, but the sharp device still sliced his arm, embedding itself in the floor behind him. The man snarled angrily at Damian and send a series of kicks and punches at the twelve year old. Damian managed to block most of the attacks, but one strong kick to his ribs caused him to smash into the steel wall of the warehouse, his head banging against it on impact. 

Damian fell to the floor stunned, trying to regain his bearings. There was this annoying peeping sound ringing in his ears and he blinked sluggishly. Why was everything spinning? He slowly propped himself on his forearms, trying to get back up, but someone kicked his arm out from under him and he crumbled back to the floor, vision still blurred.   
He blinked a few more times to get his sight to clear and saw a man dressed in black standing over him, his arms raised, a dagger in his hands.

And then there was a small knife sticking out of the man's chest, blood splattering on Damian's face. The assassin's mouth opened in a silent 'oh' and then almost in slow motion, he fell backwards, the dagger clattering to the floor. Damian turned his head to the left, trying to see who had thrown that knife and therefore saved his life, but a cloth was suddenly put over his mouth and nose and Damian had enough sense to hold his breath, even without having to smell the sweet aroma of Chloroform.

From somewhere, he heard his name being called, but his hearing was still muffled and he had trouble focusing, especially since his lungs began to burn with the lack of oxygen. He trashed against whoever was holding him, but his movement was sluggish and weak and the need to breath grew steadily. Then, there was a sudden and sharp pain in his side and he gasped in surprise, accidentally breathing in the drug. The world around him began to shift and he desperately tried go keep his eyes open, but it was a losing fight and the last things he saw was his brother's horrified face a few feet away, eyes hidden behind a domino mask. Then everything faded to black.


	5. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick figues our some things. Babs is angry.

_168 hours before (7 days):_  
 _Midnight_  
 _Mt_ _._ _Justice_

Tim had trouble processing the information Dick was giving them. Damian couldn't be... gone. No one kidnaps Damian, that just didn't happen (try kidnap an assassin-superhero brat that had been trained to kill since birth, not to mention that no one would _want_ to be around the Demon Brat for long- seriously, who'd want to listen to his angry babbling (Jason always compared him to a furious kitten in those moments) for even a second?).

And on top of that, this was the second time in so many nights that Robin had been attacked. There was obviously someone after him and Tim had the bad feeling that Damian had been holding back information about his mysterious attacked earlier. There was no way someone could overpower Damian easily, especially not two times in a row. Yes, Tim didn't exactly like the kid- no one really did- but he respected him. Damian was probably the most skilled fighter at his age of them all and would be just as good as Batman once he had more experience and time to train.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, standing next to Nightwing. The whole team was gathered around them, asking for answers. His brother sighed tiredly. "I will explain everything once Batman gets here. I've told him about Robin and he'll arrive in an hour, until then, I suggest you change and rest or take a shower."  
Without waiting to receive an answer, he turned around and walked out of the room, his shoulders slouching. Tim threw a worried glance at Jason, who stood to his left, the red helmet tucked under his arm and his brows furrowed in... worry? Concern? Annoyance? Tim wasn't quite sure, but he knew that, whoever had Damian, was gonna pay.

Their family may be _a bit_ dysfunctional, but they were a family and you don't mess with one bird without having to deal with the others. Tim didn't know why Damian was abducted or if the kidnapper will come after them, too, but someone just started a war.  
_

Dick flopped down on his bed with a tired sigh, closing his eyes to calm his mind. He gently tucked off his mask and let it drop to the floor. How could he have let this happen? He was sure that the man who took Damian was Castor, and that Damian was a bargain ship of sorts. His eyes flickered to the phone that lay on his nightstand. He wouldn't be surprised if it started ringing. Castor had called him before, so why not now? Why was he waiting, probably hiding somewhere... with Damian. What was he planning, what could be happening to Damian right now, while Dick was just lying there in the dark, almost hyperventilating because he had no friggin' idea of what might be happening to his little brother!   
He took a deep, shuddering breath, squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists so tightly around the sheets that his knuckles turned white. Panicing wouldn't help Damian.

When his phone went off, he almost jumped out off his skin, grabbing the device in an iron like grip. He looked at the caller I.D. and sighed in relieve, and maybe even annoyance, as he realized it was only Barbara. The longer Damian was gone, the less likely it would be to get him back.  
He tried to calm himself and faked a bright smile, putting a cheerful note in his voice.

"Hey, Babs, what's up?"

_"Nothing really. I was just wondering something about next week."_

"Next week?" he asked, only half his brain paying attention, while the other half tried to think of a way to find Damian.

 _"Yes,_ _next_ _week... your birthday,"_ she said slowly and Dick could imagine a worry crinkle between her eyes. (Damian had one, too, when he didn't get a move right on the first try).

"Oh, right," he muttered, "my birthday."

 _"_ _You_ _okay?"_

"I'm fine," Dick reassured her.

 _"Really, 'cause you've been talking about this party for months now. It's your_ _eighteenth_ _birthday_ _, Dick, and you told me a hundred times over that you were so_ _exited_ _to finally move to Blüdhaven. What's going on?"_

Dick sighed. He should have come to terms with Barbara being able to detect all his secrets a long time ago, but he just couldn't deal with her right now, no matter how harsh that may sound. He had to find his little brother.

"Everything's perfect, Babs. Just concentrate on getting better."

He heard her scoff through the phone. _"_ _Getting better? I'm paraplegic, Grayson, I don't_ _have_ _a freaking cold. I don't '_ _get_ _better', so you better tell me what the hell is going on."_

"Fine," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair, "Damian's missing."

There was a beat of silence, then Barbara hissed, _"What do you mean, '_ _missing'_ _?"_

"He's been kidnapped, right from under my nose." He could hear his own desperation.

 _"And you weren't gonna tell me?"_ Babs asked quietly, her voice laced with hurt. Dick groaned. He managed to mess everything up today, didn't he.

"I- It's not like..."

 _"You think I'm_ _useless_ _now,"_ she growled and Dick sat up, his heart clenching.

"No, that's not true," he answered truthfully, but she didn't seem to believe him.

" _I may not be Batgirl_ _anymore_ _, Richard Grayson, but I deserve to know about things_ _like_ _that! I can still help!"_

Dick could tell she was seething with anger. _"I'm coming to the mountain,"_ she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Dick sighed softly, his free hand massaging his temples. "All right, just be careful."

 _"And then we are gonna have a talk about our_ _relationship_ , _from girlfriend to boyfriend._ " And with those angry words, she ended the call.

 _167 hours_ _before_ _:_  
 _Gordon_ _household_

Barbarastared at the phone in her lap, a dark scowl on her face. She couldn't believe that Dick would do that to her. Yes, she wasn't Batgirl anymore, but she was still part of the Batfamily. Well, Dick seemingly didn't so. She sighed angrily and put the phone away, resting her head against the back of the wall. Why had she been so careless? One mistake and her whole life was just... destroyed.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in!" she said, putting on a convincing smile to greet her father. He sat down on the bed beside her wheelchair and gave her a long, analysing look. "What's wrong?"  
"Nothing," she answered, trying to keep her voice light-hearted. He didn't seem to buy it.  
"I recognize a fake smile when I see one, Barb."  
With a defeated sigh, she turned the wheelchair around, facing her dad.   
"Ever since the accident, I just feel like I'm... useless, you know. I feel like I lost everything. I can't do sport, I can't reach things on top of the cupboard, I can't..." she sighed.  
"You can't swing around Gotham at night anymore?" finished her father, a knowing look in his eyes.

Barbara snapped her head around with a gasp, her eyes widening. She coughed loudly and tried to school her expression, but the shock of her father's words had left her reeling. "I don't-"  
"Don't deny it, Barbara. I am your father. Do you really think I wouldn't notice my daughter sneaking out at night to play hero? I'm the police Commissioner, do not forget that."  
"Dad, I'm sorry, I-"  
He raised his hand to silence her and she lowered her head in shame. "That is a conversation for another time. Now, you tell me what happened."

She raised her head and looked at him with teary eyes. "Dad-"  
He gave her a hard look and she swallowed. "Robin's missing and since I'm no longer Batgirl, I seem to be unimportant and useless to them."  
She didn't even notice she was crying until her father wiped away her tears. "Babs, you are _not_ useless. Your legs never were your strength, your mind is. And as far as I am concerned, your mind's as sharp as ever."

She shrugged. She had never measured her value simply based on her physical traits, but being a vigilante without any sort of movement below her waist was impossible.

On the other hand, vigilantism was not limited to literal fighting, most of the larger cases were actually spend in front of a computer screen or investigating suspects, so maybe her father was right.

She was not the same as before, but she was still a superhero. And her dad was right, she had never relied on her movement as much as on her mind. She wasn't just some girl who knew martial arts, she could hack into softwares like it was nothing and form plans out of thin air.

"You're right," she sniffed, rubbing at her eyes furiously and smiled watery.   
Gordon gave her shoulder a squeeze. "But before you go off saving the world, I wanna know some details about them."  
"I'm not telling you their identities," she said forcefully, crossing her arms.   
Gordon chuckled. "I know. I was more thinking about embarrassing accidents, characteristics, what the deal with Red Hood is- seriously, since when do people who try to kill Batman wear a bat insignia on their chest- and why the hell is Robin using a _Katana_?"  
Barbara laughed. "You sound like a crazy fanboy."  
Gordon shrugged. "I'm just curious."  
"Well, then let's start at the beginning."

 _165 hours before:_  
 _Mt_ _. Justice_

Barbara arrived two hours later and even though she was only reaching everyone's waists, no one dared to stand in her way as she wheeled to her boyfriend's side, glared hard and long at him and then moved past ihm, Dick following with his head hung low.

Despite the situation, Cass had to snicker and change a quick glance with her adopted sister. She had no doupt that Babs would kill Dick, and to be honest, he deserved it.

Cass may not be much of a talker, but she analysed Dick's behaviour and he was obviously lying about something. She just couldn't figure out what. If he knew a way to get Damian back, he would have said so, Cassandra was certain of that; Dick would never willingly put his friends or family in danger. Just what other motive did he have to hide something, if it wasn't connected to Damian's dissapearence?

Cass sighed lowly and tried to clear her head. She could worry about Dick later, right now, she needed to find her other brother. Her gaze found Stephanie's and the two girls tured back towards the holo screen before them, the others gathering around.

Before Babs had arrived, they had been analysing the video material from their mission, trying to figure out who was behind the kidnapping. The shipment turned out to be a prisoner of the Leauge, but during the assult on Robin, the assassins had managed to get away with their prey.

Connor growled. "We already cleared up that the guy can't be from the League and that he's not one of the villains we have faced. There was obviously a third party involved, but without more information, we won't get much further." Cass said nothing, but agreed with a nod of her head. Connor was right, if they didn't find any other leads, there was no possibility to locate Robin's kidnapper. The man had worn a black outfit and a black mask, covering his whole head. Steph seemed to think the same way, because she nodded and shut down the screen. "Connor's right, we won't find anything now. Maybe we should call it a day and all get a round of sleep before continuing our search tomorrow."

"That's probably a good idea," said Babs, who wheeled up behid them. She seemed tired and worn out and Cass felt sympathy for the older girl. This had hit all of them hard, but Babs had had her fair share of tragedies just a few months ago, she didn't need another drama.   
"Hey, where's Dick?" asked Artemis, and Barbara sighed deeply, shrugging her shoulders. "He got a call from someone and kicked me out." Cass frowned and dread pooled in her stomach. It wasn't like Dick to be rude, especially not towards Barbara. What the hell was going on here?

_Meanwhile:_   
_Secret location_

The words that shot through Damian's head as descriptions for his situation were anything but child-friendly. To be fair, this kind of predicament wasn't new, but it never ceased to annoy the crap out of him.

One, his head was killing him. Being rendered unconscious by Chloroform always left him was a headache that threatened to split his head in two. It took all of his willpower not to groan and give any sign of consciousness.

Then there was the constant throbbing in his side and Damian could feel his pulse through the injury. Something warm and sticky coated his hip and he guessed he was suffering from blood loss. Keeping his eyes closed and breathing regular, Damian tried to assess what had caused the injury. He felt light-headed, which meant he'd lost too much blood already, so the weapon that had hit him had gone deep, but the pain was centred on one point only, so it had to have been thin and sharp. A knife, probably.

He tried to listen if anyone was in the room with him, but the blood rushing though his ears was too loud and his senses were still affected by the Chloroform.   
The cold that crept into his skin made him aware of the loss of his shoes and gloves and- to no surprise- his utility belt. His bare hands and feet were bound to a cold chair- probably metal- with thick iron chains. Overkill much. His chest was also bound to the chair, the weight making it hard to breath. Feeling the comforting fabric of his domino mask, he decided to just play dead until his captor decided to 'wake him up'.

 _164 hours before:_  
 _Mt_ _. Justice; Dick's_ _room_ _:_

Dick felt bad for sending Babs away like that, but the second his phone had rung, his heart had begun racing and his thoughts were only on Damian. He recognized the caller ID from his last call with Castor. He accepted the call with trembling fingers.

"Where is he?"

_"Not here."_

Dick frowned at the voice. It was distorted through a voice modulator, but it was obviously not Castor's. The speaker seemed older and again, strangely familiar.

"Who are you?"

_"Is that what you really want to know?"_

Dick's frown deepened. The new speaker was obviously more mature than Castor, and not only in age. He didn't seem to have that crazy vibe around him and Dick knew that this man was way more dangerous. He seemed to have his head in the game, to actually know what he was doing. Castor had given away a lot in their first call and had gotten straight to the point. This man would not.

"Where is Robin?"

 _"Your brother is alive._ _Al_ _Ghul's are hard to kill."_

Dick knew what had been left unspoken, _alive, but not necessarily unarmed. A_ _l_ _Ghul, a name not many people_ _knew_.

Figuring out Robin was the son of the billionaire Bruce Wayne was one thing, but no one but a selected few knew about his past with the League of Assassins. Whoever this man was, he did his homework.

"What do you want?" _From me..._

 _"_ _I'll send you a text. Figure it out and you will get your brother back in one piece._  
 _And Grayson, if the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, why is_ _Rickon_ _dead?"_

"What-" but he only received static. "Damn it!" Dick dropped his head in his hands and sank to the floor, back resting against the wall. How did everything go south so fast?   
A shudder run down his spine. He really shouldn't be surprised that the man knew he liked Game of Thrones of all things. And the message was clear. Tell the other bats and Damian dies. Though seriously, quoting Game of Thrones? He shook his head and blinked back angry tears. His shoulders tensed when he heard the beep of his phone.   
The chase had begun.

 _You want your brother back? Come find me. Though I do have to say I do not understand why you would want the brat back. After all, you are the first and only Boy Wonder, wearing your big boy pants or not. But remember, you're on a deadline. If you are not able to find him in time, you have zero chance at getting him back. In one piece anyway._  
 _I give you one advice, don't come looking. I wouldn't want the replacement to spoil our reunion. But, if you_ _do_ _decide to search for him, do it in three_ _hours_ _, or I'll start sending back body pieces. He has been a thorn in my side for far too long, and I may not be a saint and won't go to haven once I'm dead, but neither will he._  
 _Good luck._

Dick messaged his temples. This guy was testing him, testing his mental agility. He wanted to see how long Dick could keep going, could live with the weight of a missing brother on his shoulders, could keep following clues and grasping at straws, how long he would keep this bystander act up and could lead the others to believe that everything was fine. The man, whoever he was, was wondering how far he could push before something broke- Dick's mind in this case. And with this text, he was testing his intelligence. Dick had to find Damian with the information given.

Looking over the text once again, Dick realized that the guy should prove-read his texts. Heaven is not... Dick's mouth dropped open slightly. Not heaven, haven. Blüd _haven._ It would make sense, considering he wanted to move there after his eighteenth birthday. Just that 'Haven was a big city, so where...

His eyes raced over the text once again, looking for hidden meanings.   
_After all, you are the first and only Boy Wonder._  
First and only. 1? Maybe he had to look for a house number, a street name or something like that.  
"Deadline," he mused, chewing on his lip.   
_If you are not able to find him in time, you have zero chance at getting him back._  
He had a number right there.  
0.  
And then the replacement thing again. Maybe another 1? After all, he was the first Robin. Or a 2, because Damian was the second Robin?  
 _But, if you_ _do_ _decide to search for him, do it in three_ _hours_ ,  
Another number. 3.   
His eyes searched the text again, but he couldn't find anymore numbers. 1023? Or 1013?

Dick's eyes widened as he looked at the last sentence. _He has been a thorn in my side for far too long, and I may not be a saint and won't go to haven once I'm dead, but neither_ _will_ _he._  
It was all so obvious! How could he not have seen it before? A thorn in his side, 1013, Blüdhaven!   
1013 Parkthorn Avenue. The apartment he had been looking at with Bruce only days before. His future home. They were there, Dick was sure of it. Damian was there.

_160 hours before:_   
_Secret location_

Robin raised his eyebrows at the man leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a crazy grin on his face. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. Strangely enough, the older hadn't said anything yet, just stared at the Wayne with those cold, blue eyes. Damian glared right back, his blue-ish eyes blazing with anger. How dare that imbecile chain him to a chair and laugh at him. He was Damian Wayne, Robin and the son of Batman, the Wonder Boy of Gotham. No one humiliated him like this and got away with it. He played every scenario of the man's death over and over in his head, imagining how good it would feel to sink his _Katana_ into his opponent's grinning face. But sadly, he had neither his _Katana,_ nor the chance to actually do anything but glower.

"You look cute when you're angry," mocked the man, leaning close to pinch his cheek, but Robin turned his head and his teeth snapped shut where the other's fingers had been only milliseconds before. He didn't bother to reply otherwise.

Damian hadn't said a single world since the villain had come in an hour ago.   
"Now, that wasn't nice," chided the blue haired man and Robin smirked wickedly, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge.  
Castor didn't fall for it. "Don't worry, little birdie, he'll be here in about an hour."  
Damian kept his face blank, trying not to show his confusion. Sure, he had no doubt that his father was on his way, but even Batman would need more than a few hours to find him, if no one left any clues.

How he knew how long he'd been held captive?   
Well, for one, he was hungry and his throat was too dry. He had eaten a few hours before the mission, but his hunger wasn't as bad as that he could have been here for more than thirteen hours. It was probably around noon, a bit earlier if he had to guess. Not to mention that he had trouble keeping his eyes open. The past few days had been stressful and he'd only cought a couple hours of sleep and forced unconsciousness isn't restful either. From his calculations, Batman should be able to find him in about five to seven hours, not one. Sure, his father was the world's greatest detective, but no one had told him why he had been abducted so far and it just wouldn't make sense to leave clues for Batman to follow, not if Castor wanted something from Damian _._

"Well," mused Joker's son, fingers stroking an imaginary beard. "I guess it's hard to lose the Bat after one of his sons was snatched right from under his nose, but I have faith that he'll be able to escape daddy's watchful eyes. After all, he's a big boy now, almost a legal adult even."

Rage painted his vision red as he realized that the- now obvious- trap wasn't meant for Batman, but for Nightwing. And another realization slammed into him like a speeding train. Castor knew that Grayson was almost eighteen, meaning... their identities have been compromised.   
"Who are you?" he growled, the tremor in his voice hidden by rage. No one touches his big brother.  
"You'll see, little one, you'll see."

 _159 hours_ _before_ _:_  
 _Dick's soon-to-be apartment in Blüdhaven_

Dick took a deep breath as he opened the wooden door, arms raised in a defensive position. His heart hammered in his chest, but he tried to appear as calm as possible, taking careful steps and keeping his hands from shaking. He stepped into the apartment, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Dick's hope to find Damian was crushed as the lights turned on and he had to shield his eyes against the blinding light. Blinking furiously, he could see the silhouette of a man sitting on a couch, legs outstretched, but no sign of Damian.

Dick had known that it wouldn't be that easy, but deep down, he'd hoped to get Damian back as soon as he opened that door. The kid was arrogant and thought himself better than anyone else, but he was his little brother and Dick would do anything to get him back.

He blinked a few more times until the silhouette of the man came into focus. His hands were buried deep inside the pockets of a hoodie and Dick couldn't see above his nose under the dark hood. He was sitting on the leather couch, his posture relaxed, feet propped on the coffee table. For a moment, Dick didn't say anything, arms still raised, but the man made no move to attack him.

"Where's Damian?" Dick demanded, eyes glaring at the stranger. The man cocked his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. "The brat's fine." Dick tensed at the voice, fists dropping to his sides slowly. It was the same voice he'd heard over the phone three nights ago, when he'd discovered Joker had a son.  
"You're Castor," he stated, frowning slightly. The man in front of him seemed... sane enough, and his voice was void of any laughter.   
"Do you truly not remember me?" asked Castor, not acknowledging Dick's interest in his father.   
Dick shook his head no.  
With a swift move, Castor pulled down his hood, pale blue eyes glaring into Dick's baby blue one and memories hit Dick like a crashing plane.

___________  
 _Dick was nine, small for his age and couldn't speak_ _English_ _very_ _well, not to_ _mention_ _that he'd just watch his parents fall to their deaths._  
 _He watched numbly as people in uniforms_ _swarmed_ _around the circus tend, one of them talking to Mr. Haly, pointing at Dick and saying_ _something_ _while gesticulating_ _wildly_ _with his hands. Dick_ _ignored_ _them._  
 _His eyes were trained on the ground, where his parents had laid before four people took them away in black sacks. Dick had protested, pounding against the hands holding him back as tears streamed down his face. He didn't want his parents to leave._  
 _But the person had hold onto him until the_ _four_ _men were_ _gone_ _and Dick had sobbed into the man's_ _shoulder_ _._  
 _The man had introduced himself as James Gordon, had given Dick_ _his_ _jacket, seeing the small boy shiver_ _in_ _the cold._  
 _Now, Dick could still smell the blood on the floor, his small hands clutching the nice man's jacket around him._

 _He looked up as someone lightly tapped his_ _shoulder_ _. A woman stood in front of him. She_ _wore_ _a white blouse and a white skirt, her shoes clicking on the ground. She looked at him with warm brown eyes, but Dick didn't like the pity in them. He just_ _wanted_ _to be with his parents, but no one would let him._  
 _"Richard?" the woman asked and Dick pulled his attention back to her. He nodded timidly, Gordon's jacket pulled closer around himself._  
 _"I'm Jean Hawkins." She extended her hand and Dick looked at her with questioning eyes. What was he_ _supposed_ _to do? With a small smile, the woman- Jean-_ _dropped_ _it again and_ _crouched_ _down to look him in_ _the_ _eye, careful not to get her skirt dirty. "I'm sorry_ _for_ _what happened to you."_  
 _Dick_ _didn't understand all of her words, but he caught her sad tone and swallowed._  
 _He didn't think his parents would come back soon._

 _She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, locking her eyes_ _with_ _his. "I know_ _that_ _this is hard for you, but..."_  
 _She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and even though he didn't really know what she was saying, it_ _probably_ _wasn't good._  
 _"We have been looking for a place for you to stay, but all orphanages are full already, so_ _you'll_ _have to stay in_ _another_ _place." She sighed deeply and_ _Dick_ _detected tears in her eyes. Why was she crying? Did she miss her_ _parents_ _, too? "I'm so sorry." He understood_ _those_ _words and_ _clasped_ _her hand tightly,_ _lookin_ _g_ _at her with big blue eyes. He didn't want to be left alone again._  
_

 _The Juvenile Detention_ _Center_ _was not a nice place. The_ _boys_ _were mean and the adults were mean, too. The jacket Gordon had given_ _him_ _had been taken away and the only thing left was Peanut, his faithful elephant_ _pet_ _. At night, when he couldn't sleep and sat in his bed, the thin blanket thrown over his head and cuddling_ _with_ _peanut_ _, he wished he could go back to Mr._ _Haly_ _and his family. He didn't_ _understand_ _why they'd left him._

 _One day, when he was_ _hiding_ _in the wash room (two of the mean boys had stolen his food and Dick was trying not to cry), he heard the door open and pressed himself closer to the wall_ _beneath_ _the sink. Light footsteps came to a stop in front of him and Dick screwed his eyes shut, knees hugged to his chest. "Hey," whispered a soft voice and Dick peeked at the boy crouching beside him. He seemed to be a few years older and had a gentle smile on his lips. Dick slowly uncurled himself, but stayed where he was. Turning his head, he could get a proper look at the other. Dick had to stifle a snicker and bit his lips. He had funny hair._

 _"My_ _name_ _is C, at least that's what everyone calls me." He extended his hand and_ _Dick_ _hesitantly_ _took it,_ _letting_ _C pull him to his_ _feet_ _. "Don't worry about those idiots," he continued and Dick hugged himself,_ _arms_ _trembling_ _slightly_ _. His_ _English_ _had gotten better and he now_ _understood_ _bits and pieces. "I will protect you, little one." Dick's head_ _shot_ _up and he_ _gasped_ _at the blue_ _haired_ _boy, eyes wide. "Why?" he whispered, still_ _clutching_ _his own shirt. "Because everyone has been the new kid at one point," explained C, shrugging nonchalantly, "I know how hard it is."_

 _From there on, whenever another mean boy_ _tried_ _to take his food or hurt him, Castor was always there to protect him._  
 _____________

Dick stood stock still, eyes wide in shock.   
"So you do remember," Castor said, eyes trained carefully on Dick's face. He'd expected that kind of reaction, though he'd hoped to get something other than a blank stare. Tears, maybe, or an apology.   
Dick seemed at a loss for words, mouth slightly agape. "You- I- how?" he stuttered, confusion written all over his face. He shook his head, closing his mouth and standing straighter. "Why are you doing this, C?"

Castor pressed his lips together, hands balled to fists at his side. "Why?" he echoed, eyebrows pulled together. "Because you betrayed me!"  
"I-"  
But Castor was too engrossed by his rage, not letting Dick finish his sentence as he stomped towards him. "I protected you, made sure you were fed and able to sleep! I saved you!" By now, he was mere millimetres away from Dick's face, eyes blazing. "And then you decide to leave with that billionaire."

Dick didn't react, only fuelling Castor's anger. "I- I was adopted, I didn't belong there," he stuttered, trying to wrap his head around the surreal situation.  
"But you owed me! You owed me everything, you _belonged_ to me, you are _mine!_ "  
Dick's eyes hardened, his own anger boiling. "You are right, I owe you a lot, but you do not _own_ me," he replied, voice calm and void of its usual happiness. "No one owns me and I belong to _no one_."

Castor moved to wrap his hands around the younger's neck, wanting to yell that yes, he did belong to him, when the com in his ear turned on.   
_"That's enough. You will have enough time to deal with him later. Come back to the_ _base_ _,"_ ordered his partner and Castor flexed his fingers to resist the urge to choke the living hell out of the man who had betrayed him.   
Instead, he grabbed him by the arm, growling, "I'm gonna bring you to the brat," leading him out of the apartment.  
Dick didn't fight him.


	6. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going very downhill from now on.

_158 hours before (7 days):_   
_10 in the morning_   
_Secret_ _location_

Damian's butt was starting to hurt.   
Even though that might not be his main worry at the moment, his behind still constantly ached and it was getting on Damian's nerves.

Around two hours ago, as far as Damian could estimate from the gnawing hunger, the blue-haired man had left, going after Grayson. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.   
From what Damian had gathered so far, the man was working with a powerful partner.   
The idea of that partner being his grandfather was gut wrenching, but it would only make sense. Damian had been kidnapped during one of the League's secret operations and even though assassins had been killed, Damian didn't doupt that his mother's side of the family was involved. That just left the question what they wanted from Grayson.

He wasn't foolish enough to think the League would let him be, after father had fought them off when mother had tried to take him back. Truth to be told, Damian didn't want to go back. It was not that he didn't love the fights, the training and the title of being the heir, but... with Grayson and father (and sadly Todd, Drake, Fatgirl and... well, Cain wasn't that bad), he had a family. Not just by blood, but he had started to respect the other bats, started to care for them in a way he hadn't known was possible. They had shown him he was _not_ just a killing machine, but a human being.

Jesus, this brooding was making him soft. With a scowl, Damian tugged at the chains, a frustrated growl clawing its way out of his throat. He wondered how long he'd have to stay in this silence. It's not like he wasn't trained for this kind of situations, but when his mother had chained him to a chair and locked the door, at least he had known that she was watching him, that he was not alone (though at that time, the watchful eye of his mother was not all that reassuring).

Damian had to get out. It was not only that he was obviously in a really bad position, but if that guy managed to take Grayson captive (and that imbecile would be naive enough to believe Damian would be allowed to walk free if Grayson gave himself up), Damian also had to save him. Not to mention that he had to take down his captor and his captor's partner, especially since they had compromised their identities.

He wondered who that mysterious partner was. The man had always talked about one person, so maybe his grandfather himself, or his mother? Or maybe just one of their assassins. Or the League was acting behind the curtain, pulling all the strings in secret and the partner was someone else entirely.  
The possibilities were endless.   
Maybe Damian was just paranoid and the League of Assassins had nothing to do with this- though they probably did.

His head snapped up when the handle of the door was pushed down. Someone was coming. The blue-eyed man? His partner? Batman? Grayson?

The door opened without a sound and Damian narrowed his eyes as bright light filtered through the wooden door. His heartbeat picked up as he squinted, seeing the silhouette of a man in full body armour. The door opened fully and Damian could see the man clearly now, armour, weapons and mask.

He gasped, heart fluttering in his ribcage like an imprisoned bird, before a deep scowl covered his features. Of course, of all possible people, _this_ man had to be the villain's partner.   
"You," he growled, hatred dripping from every letter.

_155 hours before:_   
_1 pm_   
_Somewhere_

Dick awoke with a headache.   
It wasn't really anything new, to be honest.   
Groaning, Dick pushed himself in a sitting position, leaning on his hands. He blinked drowsily, his though jumbling inside his head. Where was he? The ground beneath him was soft and his fingers felt the warm fabric he had been sleeping on.   
A bed? Whose bed?

A soft groan slipped from his lips as a wave of nausea slammed into him. What the hell had rendered him unconscious? Rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly placed his feet on the ground... and halted abruptly. These were not his clothes.   
Instead of the jeans and shirt he had been wearing earlier, his legs were covered by white cotton PJ's.

 _Wait a second_... had C undressed him?! That was disturbing on so many levels.  
He would have to make sure Jason never knew of this, or he'd never let him live it down.

Heavy footsteps caught his attention. Someone was coming. Swiftly and quietly, Dick jumped out of the bed, crossed the room and pressed his back to the wall next to the door. He'd get out of here and find Damian.

"I'd move away from the wall," warned a voice from outside. Dick's eyes narrowed. It was the same man he had spoken to on the phone.  
Dick's muscles seized suddenly, as a small voltage of electricity hit him. With a yelp, he leaped away from the wall.   
He was more surprised than hurt, the voltage low enough not to cause any real pain.   
_A warning,_ he realized grimly, watching the door closely.   
The second his captor open that door, he'd knock him over and escape. It wasn't a good plan, hell, it was no real plan at all, but Dick needed to find Damian, asap.

All his plans were nipped in the bud as the door was thrown open forcefully, Dick barely managing to avoid getting hit. He saw the man holding him captive.   
Dick's back hit the wall with a thud.

_Meanwhile:_   
_Wayne_ _Manor_

Tim was tired. Physically, mentally, psychologically. Every form of exhaustion really.   
Him, Jason, Babs and the team had searched for hours after figuring out Dick was gone. He hadn't answered his phone, nor his com and after watching the security tape of the mountain (sadly without tone), it had become obvious that he went to save Damian by himself. So the teens had searched high and low for their missing brothers, going back to the docks even, but they hadn't found _anything_ , not one little clue _._ Bruce had finally send everyone home, though they had all protested, but hey, what can you do if Batman gives you an order, right? Barbara was staying at the Manor, too, not even Alfred could get her to change her mind.   
Which lead to him being in the current situation: squashed between a heavily snoring Jason (Tim suspected Alfie had put something in his drink), the armrest of the couch he was sitting on, and Barbara's wheelchair, the girl's head resting on his shoulder. She was fast asleep, her glasses halfway down her nose. Cass and Steph were both sleeping in their rooms supstairs. Tim's eyes felt heavy, too, but he was fighting against whatever Alfred had spiked his drink with.

He tried to form a coherent thought, but it felt like walking through water, slow and sluggish and like something was pushing against him. His brain felt muddled, like it was drifting in cotton or something.  
Damn it, whatever Alfred used, it was good.   
But Tim would not lose a fight against his own body. Dick was out there, somewhere and so was Damian, the little brat.

He needed to find them... but sleep sounded good, too. But he could not rest now, not when... when what exactly? What was he thinking about again? Birds? Something about birds... Dick and Damian! He needed to... find... needed to sleep, he needed to sleep. No, he should get up, had to get up, but that ment moving and the couch was so comfy... But if he stayed, he'd fall asleep... what was so bad about that again? There was something... what... He could just close his eyes, just for a second. Just for a teeny tiny second... and then get back to whatever he had been thinking about.

_Meanwhile:_   
_Secret location:_

Dick felt small. Smaller than he should feel. This man... he... Dick felt like he was thirteen again, trapped in the clutches of this monster. And it scared him. Not being back with him, but that Slade Wilson still had the same control over him he had back then. That Dick felt terrefied, not only for Damian, also for himself, the boy who had been terrorized by Deathstroke the Terminator for so long.   
"Wha... what... but how, why?" He hated the way his voice shook. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. Deathstroke couldn't be here, there was just no way... Dick had thought he was safe. That he had finally gotten rid of people wanting to harm him. _Tough luck._

The man looked him up and down and Dick swallowed hard, clenching his shaking hands. "What are you doing?" he hissed through clenched teeth. Wilson didn't do so much as twitch an eyebrow. "You should be very well aware of that, Grayson." His voice was calm as always, void of any emotions, there was no anger, no glee, no nothing. Dick hated it. He had never been able to read him, to understand what was going on inside his head. He could never foresee what the man wanted him to do. It had caused him a lot of painful hours.

Swallowing down a spiteful reply, he forced his body to calm down. Damian was still here somewhere and Deathstroke hadn't done much to hurt Dick yet. And where was Caster? Wasn't he supposed to be the main villain of this? Dick couldn't imagine Slade submitting to someone like the Joker's son. It didn't add up. "If this is about-" his response was interrupted by a gun pointed at his head. He hadn't even seen Slade move. The older man slowly peeled his mask off and Dick felt like someone had driven all air out of his lungs. It wasn't the first time he had seen the man's bare face, but it still came as a surprise how old he was. White hair framed a tan face and a white goatee completed the look. "I don't like disrespect, Grayson, you knew that. And still..."

Dick's face heated up with rage. How dare that monster talk about _respect_ while using his younger brother against him. "What do you know about respect? " he growled, taking a daring step forward. Slade wouldn't shoot him, he was sure of it. The muzzle of the gun rested agains this forehead. "Where is Damian?" Slade's finger curled around the trigger and Dick's heart skipped a beat. _Slade wouldn't shoot him_. He stared into cold gray eyes. There was no sympathy in those steely orbs. Maybe Slade _would_ shoot him. He didn't back down though. He needed to know where Damian was. He needed to make sure his baby brother was safe. The gun pressed harder into his skin. Dick didn't react. His eyes were as cold as Slade's.

With a low chuckle, Deathstroke removed the gun. "You've changed," he declared.

"Maybe." A person did change in five years. Slade's finger came too close to his face and Dick snapped his arm up, clamping his hand around the older man's wrist. "Don't," he warned. Slade's touches were like a double-edged blade. Dick learned that the hard way. One second soft and almost gentle, the next harsh and brutal. Dick had never been able to measure up if Slade would reward him or punish him. Dick's face twisted. Why was he still thinking like that? For some time, pleasing Slade had been... necessary. But Dick wasn't thirteen anymore. Pleasing Slade was not what he had to do. Not anymore. And he refused to do so again. "Slade, where is Damian?" His words were laced with ice, poised to kill. Dick's and Slade's past was a well-kept secret, as gruesome as it was, but Damian knew Slade, too. And Dick knew the merc hated his brother almost as much as he hated him. Maybe more. The assassin crossed his arms over his chest lazily. "He is alive." 

He said alive, not well, not fine, not uninjured, just alive. But that's all Dick needed to know to let go of Slade's wrist. The man didn't give any sign of hurt, even though there was a clear bruise in the form of a handprint forming. It annoyed the vigilante to no end. Dick turned away. It was strange... that he knew Deathstroke wouldn't attack him. It was unable to predict any actions Slade might take in certain situations, anything detailed, but he hated to admit that he did know how Deathstroke works. He knew Slade wouldn't attack if Dick showed so openly he wouldn't fight. Turning his back on the enemy might sound suicidal to most, but Dick just knew there would be no lesson taught in attacking that way, there would be no justification and equality. So he pressed his lips into a thin line, back facing Deathstroke, arms crossed over his chest defiantly. "I want to see him."  
"Soon."  
"Now."  
"No."  
Dick scoffed. "Why? There's nothing left for us to talk about."  
"Aren't you curious?" Slade wondered, arching two white eyebrows. Dick shook his head. Yes, he was curious as to why a mercenary like Deathstroke would willingly work with someone like Castor, who had obviously gone mad (he also wondered how that had happened), but like hell would he voice those thoughts. The image of his old friend popped into his head. What had happened to Castor to make him go... crazy? That couldn't be just because Dick had left, right?

"I know what I did," was all he said. And it's true. Castor had made it obvious that this was about revenge and Slade fit perfectly into the 'Revenge plans against Dick Grayson' category. "But let Damian go."  
"No."  
"Why?" Dick's heart constricted in his chest.  
"Do you know what I want from you?"  
Dick paused. Did he? If this was all about making him hurt, why the talk?  
"Not sure," he answered truthfully. Why lie?  
Instead of answering, Slade grasped Dick's arm tightly, pulling him out of the room. Dick let him. If he wanted to, he could have escaped the grip fairly easy, but Slade had treated him worse than this and he wanted to know where this was going. And he needed to find Damian.

They walked down a long, dimly lit hallway. Dick's heart was still racing, but he tried not to fidget too much in Slade's grip. If cooperation got him to Damian, he'd gladly let Slade do whatever he wanted. He was shoved into a large room, barely keeping himself from stumbling. With a scowl, he took in his surroundings. There was nothing in there. No furniture, no windows, not even a real door, it was a hole in the wall... what kind of room didn't have a door? Just white walls and a bare lightbulb.

He glanced at Slade. "Where are we?" Ignoring his question, Slade pressed a button on his gauntlet, passing Dick as he walked to the opposite wall. Dick just watched him. "What are we doing here? I want to see Damian."

"Is asking questions all you can do?" Dick glared at him. Slade sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. It was strange, being back in one room with the man. Dick wished he were anywhere but here. It made him nauseous. The last time he had been this close to Slade... it still gave him goose bumps. He had been thirteen back then, naïve and heroic. Stupid.   
He gulped. This situation stirred up unpleasant memories. "I'm not here to play games, Slade. What do you want from me?"

" _He_ doesn't want anything from you." Dick hadn't even heard C enter. It still came as a shock, seeing his childhood friend and Deathstroke the Terminator in one room. Castor moved closer. "You are mine, Dick, always have been and always will be. Deathstroke is just... an accomplice. We help each other, you see. He helped me kidnap you and I helped him with this science experiment shit. I heard you took in one of our pet projects?"

Dick narrowed his eyes. So those missing kids had really grown on their responsibility. But that they knew about Kayla was concerning. Had they watched Jason? Had they put a tracker on the girl? Maybe they had even bugged the manor. Or... or Jason rescuing Kayla had been part of their plan all along, which was a whole new level of terrifying. Dick swallowed hard, drying his sweating hands on his pants. "If it's me you want, why kidnap Damian?" It was driving him mad; no one had answered him that one simple question. Castor shrugged, gesturing towards Slade. "No idea. He wanted him. Said something about the League of Assassins and birthrights? Don't really care." At that, Dick's head snapped up, eyes boring into Slade's single one. "This is not just about me," he whispered, dread weighting him down like lead. "This is about the Demon's Head. About Ra's." His legs were weak and felt like jelly. This wasn't just some stupid vendetta, this was about power. If Slade killed Damian and managed to take over the League... Gotham would be in for a whole new freak show. Damn it all to hell.

He gulped down the lump in his throat and glanced at the two villains. There was something in Deathstroke's eye... something dangerous. He was glaring at C. Dick knew what would happen a millisecond before Slade slashed his sword at Castor's head. The two young adults jumped back, Dick out of reflex and Castor to stay alive. Dick's heart was beating in his throat, eyes blown wide and watching intensely as Slade left Castor no room to speak, to ask what the hell was going on. What in the- so Dick had been right all along, Castor just functioned as a means to an end. To kidnap Dick and Damian. Dick was trapped in a stupor, unable to do so much as follow every movement with his eyes. Castor was undoubtedly inferior. The sudden attack, no weapons and little room to move made it impossible for Castor to counterattack and it was no surprise when Slade went for the killing blow. Dick didn't know why, he honestly couldn't say if his body acted before his brain or the other way around, but then he was crashing into Slade, both their bodies slamming into the ground and Dick had trouble processing what he was doing; he had just saved Castor's life. Maybe because he didn't see a maniac kidnapper in that split second his body had decided to move on its own, but a young boy that had fought off bullies and helped him cope. He had seen his friend. His eyes locked with Castor's for a short moment and then the other man was gone, bolting through the door-like hole in the wall.

The adrenaline was bleeding out of Dick and he slumped back to the ground, eyes closed and breathing hard. What had he done? He didn't move as he heard Slade push himself off the floor. He didn't open his eyes as a hand gripped his biceps in a bruising grasp. He didn't object as he was forcefully hauled to his feet. He didn't shiver as Slade sneered into his ear, "I tried being nice, Grayson, but if you insist on making this harder than it has to be, I'll return the favor. Let's go see your brother now, that's what you've been begging for the whole time, isn't it? And if you tell him why he is here, why you are here or what happened five years ago, I'll kill him and I'll make you watch." A pause. "I think we should wait for your other siblings to arrive before letting the cat out of the bag, wouldn't you agree?" Dick didn't cry as he was dragged away, his arm aching under the merciless grip Slade had on him.


	7. Chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnappings and fiiiights!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, but next chapter is gonna come tomorrow.. with 5000 words... so much work, no idea how that works with school, but what teh hell.

_144 hours before (6 days):_  
_0:00 o'clock_

Kayla didn't like Deathstroke the Terminator. She... respected him; his strength, his power, his vigilance, but he was a monster in every sense of the word. She stared down at her hands blankly, watching as her index finger twitched. It was a nervous habit she had developed shortly after Deathstroke had taken her in. Back then she was too young to understand what he was training her for, what she would be molded into.

A mercenary-in-training, a killer, an _apprentice._  
Deathstroke's apprentice. It really sucked balls.

The fighting was awesome, but the training was gruesome and the killing unforgivable... and still necessary. There was no way in hell she would defy Slade Wilson's direct orders, he'd kill her by the end of the day and she really valued her life, no matter how shitty it was.

A flash of black and white hair flashed before her eyes. Jason had saved her, even though it was all staged, but now she had to betray him anyway. Her wings fluttered. Another nervous habit of hers.

As surprising as it was, Project W.I.N.G. (a scientific experiment, deforming the bones in a human's back so they'd function as wings) actually hadn't been her master's idea. He had forged an allegiance with another man, who had provided him with the financial needs to kick-start this experiment. Before the scientists had been able to perfect the serum, there had been dozens of casualties, until one boy had somehow managed to survive the procedure. Deathstroke had disposed of him and ordered her to undergo the process herself.

It had been excruciatingly painful and she had just barely made it through. _Hurray,_ she thought bitterly. Kayla wasn't 100% sure, but Deathstroke was probably planning on doing the same thing to Dick Grayson. She really couldn't imagine the black-haired boy with wings- but then again, she still had trouble believing she had a pair of those herself.

She sighed, chewing on her cheek. She didn't want to hurt the remaining vigilantes, but what choice did she have? Her feelings were unimportant, she had to complete her mission.

She found Timothy Drake and Stephanie Brown in the kitchen, hunched over images from the security feed of Damian's kidnapping. Deathstroke had made her read up on all of Batman's sidekicks, so taking them down should be fairly easy, as long as they didn't suspect her of being a trojan horse. A pang of guilt hit her hard as she looked away from the two sad and desperate teenagers. They'd be with their brothers soon enough.

She made her way over to the kitchen counter. "Coffee?" she asked, putting on a shy face, shuffling her feet. "Yes, please," moaned Tim, rubbing his eyes drowsily, while Stephanie smiled thankfully. "I'd appreciate it" she answered.

Making sure her body covered the two mugs she had taken out of the cupboard, she poured the hot liquid in and, with a heavy heart, also dripped Rohypnol into the steaming cups. She was careful not to overdose the two, she didn't want to leave permanent damage after all.

Her gaze traveled to the closed door. She had made sure to chose a point of time an interruption was the most unlikely. Right now, Cassandra Cain was... well, she had been staring out of her window for the last hour and was probably still doing so, Bruce Wayne was in the Watchtower, looking for clues to find his missing sons, Alfred Pennyworth (who she really liked, the old man seemed kind, gentle, understanding and totally badass) was doing the groceries and Jason... Kayla swallowed. Damn her irritating hormones. Why on earth did the guy have to look like a dark, gloomy, sexy, teenage version of Thor?! It really wasn't fair.

She scoffed as she realized how pouty her thoughts sounded and put the two mugs on the table. "Here." Tim wolfed the drink down in one go. _How in the hell hasn't that guy scorched his throat yet?! The coffee was burning hot!_ The heroine slurped slowly, taking only small gulps. Kayla turned her back on the couple, leaning against the counter.

She didn't have to wait long before she heard a cup shattering on the floor. Both vigilantes were lying on the table, though it looked like Tim might fall off his chair if he continued to slide to the side like that.

"Sorry," she muttered, pulling out a small, round object. Deathstroke had given it to her as means of transportation. Lately, the man had decided to work together with a lot of other villains. First, the man who had the idea for Project W.I.N.G. and now Abra Cadabra, who had cast some spell on the stone-like object and it worked as some sort of teleportation device.

Ignoring her hurting conscience, she laid it in the palm of Tim's hand, pressed a small button, waited ten seconds and then the boy disappeared with a quiet _pop,_ the stone falling to the ground in front of her. She repeated the process on Stephanie and watched as she, too, disappeared.

Again, she picked up the stone, swallowing. It didn't matter if she regretted her actions now anyway. All members of the Batfamily would soon be in Deathst-

Her thought came to an abrupt halt as something hard and cold pressed against the back of her head. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, her movements stilling completely as her heart stuttered in her chest, sending small shockwaves of panic through her entire system.

"Where did you send them?" growled someone from behind, voice cold as ice and with no emotions whatsoever, pressing the gun further against her head. Kalya closed her eyes, listening to the blood rushing in her ears. _Shit, how does Jason even know what I was doing?_ He had been in the Batcave as far as she knew, so how did he... He somehow must have known that she was kidnapping the others, he wouldn't have been running around with a gun inside the Manor otherwise.

The gun against her hair jerked forward and she almost fell, but just managed to catch herself on her hands. _Right, Jason's still waiting for an answer._

"I send them to my master," she answered after a moment of hesitation. There was no use in lying now, he would have figured it out anyway.

"And who would that be?" Jason's voice lacked any humor, but the mocking undertone was clear as day. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, working up the courage to tell the enraged boy who had four of his brothers in their grasp. Why was this so hard?

She seemingly was lost in her thoughts for too long, as Jason cocked the gun. The klick seemed to echo around the room and Kayla flinched. _Well, here goes nothing._

"Deathstroke the Terminator."

Jason sucked in a sharp breath and she dared to slowly turn her head around, seeing the disbelieving look on the teenager's face. "Deathstroke the Terminator?" he echoed, the gun lowering slightly. Kayla didn't move. "He... knows who we are?"   
"Yes."   
"How?"

She didn't answer, raising her hands and slowly pushing herself off the ground, facing the anti-hero. "Look, Jason, you don't really have any options here. You are going to let me knock you out and I will teleport you to my master. Maybe you could win a fight against me, but even if you interrogate me, I won't betray my master. I am much more afraid of him than I am of you. And if you kill me, Deathstroke will just come to collect you himself. And... the easiest way to free your brothers is by being with them, is it not?"

Jason didn't answer for what felt like forever. He was still pointing the gun at her head, but his thoughts seemed far away.

"What does he want from us anyway?" he finally said, meeting her gaze head-on. She sighed. Why did Jason always have to ask the right questions? "I... don't know any specifics," she started, choosing her words carefully. "But I do know that you are only means to an end, to exert pressure on..." She hesitated. How well would Jason take the news that Deathstroke's main interest was his older brother?

"On Batman?" guessed Jason, keeping his face blank. Kayla shook her head. "No, the Batman is of no interest to him. The only person of importance is... Richard Grayson. And to some extent the al Ghul boy, but mostly the oldest. They seem to have some sort of... linked backstory? I am not really sure, but they know each other."

At this, Jason's mask of indifference cracked and Kayla could see confusion and anger and, hidden behind layers of rage, worry, in those dark blue eyes. She averted her gaze. "What does a merc want from a hero if not kill him?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Only one way to find out, right?"

Jason seemed reluctant to lower his weapon, but something in her eyes must have convinced him that the only way of having even the slightest chance at saving his brothers was to find them first. And the only way to find them was to let her kidnap him. Kayla knew that they have been running themselves in the ground, trying to pinpoint Deathstroke's location. To no avail.

Kayla realized that maybe, this was her only chance to take him down before he could make up his mind. Using the distraction his conflicted thoughts caused, she shot forward, her fist crashing into the boy's temple. She caught him before he hit the floor. "Sorry," she whispered, placing the small stone in his hand and pressing the button, just like she had done with both of his siblings.

After he vanished, Kayla rose to her feet shakily. And now for the hardest part, taking down Cassandra Cain.  
_

Cassandra wasn't sure how it had come to this.  
When Kayla had come to her room, asking if she was okay, Cass had turned to her to say 'yes', she was _fine_ , but had realized with blinding clarity that something was _wrong._ She wasn't good with words, couldn't express herself through sentences and synonyms, but she was exceptional at reading people, and everything about the other girl, the tension in her shoulders, the forced casualness, the way she refused to meet her eyes and the nervous flutter of her wings, screamed:

_guilty._

And maybe something in her own eyes had given her away, but the next thing she knew, she was trading blows with Kayla (who was not supposed to know how to fight in the first place).

Two seconds into the fight and Kayla had held her own against Cass longer than the latter anticipated. It was obvious that she had been thoroughly trained... by someone associated with the League of Shadows. She recognized the winged teenager's fighting style, it was similar to her own. That realization was enough to push her off balance, even if only for a second.

She caught herself just in time to block a kick aimed at her stomach by twisting her body to the side and deflecting Kayla's leg with the upper side of her underarms, aiming a kick of her own at the other girl's head.

Kayla ducked under her foot and jabbed at her side with the palm of her hand. Cass did a 90° spin and thrust her arm out and down, hitting her opponent's hand away forcefully, roundhouse-kicking at her head again, her heel inches from the pale girl's face, before her ankle was grabbed and she was pulled forward, thrown across the room with much more force than a small girl like Kayla should possess.

Still airborne, Cass planted her hands on the ground, jerking her legs upwards into a handstand and rolling over her back and spinning around at the same time to nimbly rise to her feet again.

She jerked her arm up to block the incoming punch and pushing Kayla's arm to the side, jerking forward to hit her in the nose with her palm, but her attack was avoided and returned with a punch to Cass' chest. She swiftly sidestepped, clamping her hand around her opponent's wrist, pulling her face-first into her elbow. Kayla almost managed to evade the attack, bending backward, but Cass' elbow still made contact with the other's nose, not hard enough to break bone, but still drawing blood.

They stood a few feet apart, both panting, Kayla wiping at her nose with her sleeve.   
Cass was thrumming with adrenaline, making it hard to think, but she still needed to know why this fight was happening and why the loud noise hadn't attracted her siblings.   
"Why you do this?"  
"I don't have a choice."

Flapping her wings back, Kayla was faster on Cass than the vigilante could blink. It only now occurred to her that Kayla hadn't used her wings at all during the fight, maybe because of the tight space of her room. The former assassin backflipped out of the way, pushing off the wall with her feet, pointing a blow to the other's stomach, but Kayla jumped backward, jerking her hand down to hit Cass' fist away form her. Before Cassandra could hit the ground, the young hero rolled over her shoulder, using the momentum to sweep her legs across the floor, doing a back handspring when Kayla jumped over her outstretched feet and kicked at her face in the same instance.

Thinking back on it, using a back handspring to put some space between them may not have been the best idea. The millisecond Kayla was out of her field of view, the girl had surged forward and that's how Cass found herself with feathery wings in her face, slamming her into the wall so hard the wood splintered beneath her head and back. There was a biting and all-consuming pain, then... nothing.

_136 hours before:_  
_8:00 am_

Cass came to with the mother of all headaches doing a rain dance inside her head. She could feel her heart pulsing in the back of her skull. Blinking sluggishly, she tried to make out her surroundings. White. Everything was a dizzy swirl of white and gray-ish colours. She hadn't moved yet, the possibility of vomiting if she did was too high to risk. The glaring white colours hurt her eyes, her headache worsening as she tried to remember what she was doing in a white room. There were no white rooms in the Manor.

A blurry face hovered above her, the dull throbbing in her head making it impossible to understand what the person was saying. She felt a light touch at her cheek and blinked again, the person slowly coming into focus. Blond hair, worried face.

_Stephanie._

Cass groaned quietly and raised her hand to her head, feeling a bump growing on the back of her skull. "Ouch," she muttered, her fingers tingling. Stephanie seemed relieved she was showing signs of awareness, as the blond slowly put an arm around Cass' shoulders and pulled her upright. She lurched to the side as her stomach backflipped, dry heaving and spluttering.

"Shit," cussed the other vigilante, holding the ex-assassin upright. "You okay, Cass?"   
She shook her head. "Concussion," she muttered, keeping her eyes closed to fight off waves of nausea. In all 17 years of her life, she's had one, maybe two concussions, this one hitting the three times mark.

Dick and Stephanie, who liked to jump in head-first, antagonizing (or just chatting) with the villains, took more hits than Cass. She liked to stick close to the shadows, sweeping in to take the bad guys out and leaving as soon as possible. That way, she has been able to avoid many serious injuries, concussions included.

Carefully opening her eyes, she glanced around the room. One white door, no windows, a single light bulb which glared white light. The walls, ceiling and floor were also painted white, giving off madhouse vibes. She shuddered. The next thing she noticed were the people. Stephanie knelt next to her, regarding her with an anxious expression. Quickly giving her a once-over, Cass was relieved to find she seemed to be uninjured.

To Cassandra's left sat Jason, glaring at the floor darkly. He had a red spot on his temple and his face was swelling on one side. Tim was lying next to Steph, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts. And between Tim and Jason sat...

"Damian!"   
The boy in question was watching her closely, a small, relieved smile on his face. "Cain," he said. Cass had to bite back a slightly hysterical laugh. Damian was still fighting to maintain his non-caring facade. She took inventory of the youngest crime fighter's injuries, a small ball of rage steadily growing in her stomach. He was sporting black bruises across his cheek bone and eye, traveling down to form a ring of finger-chaped marks around the kid's throat. It was obvious what had caused those.

Damian sat cross-legged, back straight but leaning to one side to take pressure off the other one, hands resting in his lap, so Cass precluded that he was probably uninjured from the neck down aside from the knife wound he had received on the day of his kidnapping, as the position would provoke a great deal of pain otherwise. It was a small relieve. Damian was strong, but he was small and thin and if Deathstroke decided to hit his chest or stomach with great force, there was a chance of causing internal damage. Cass hadn't even realized how much she had worried about the boy until now. After the fiasco with the Joker two years ago, another kidnapping was not what anyone needed.

Only after making sure her siblings were fine did she realise that someone was still missing. "Where... Dick?" She whispered, dread pooling into her stomach. What if he was hurt? Or worse? And why wasn't he with them?

"With Wilson, probably," muttered Damian, his voice sounding rough and dry, eyes fixed on his hands. "Didn't he come here with you?"  
Shaking his head, Jason moved closer to the younger Wayne. "Nope. Dickhead went after you on his own, the dip-shit." He crossed his arms, lips twisting into a grimace. "Guess he found Slade before he found us. Oh, btw, do you happen to know this guy?" he asked, pulling out a photo from his pocket. Leaning over, Cass caught a glimpse of a man's face.

Damian gave him a questioning look (and somehow still managed to look arrogant) and negated the question. "Who is he?"   
Tim snatched the picture out of his hand, cocking one eyebrow. "The guy from the night of your kidnapping," he explained. "He was the League's shipment."   
Damian scrunched up his eyebrows, taking back the photo. "Are you sure? The League of Shadows usually does not take prisoners, not unless they threaten their business... and that guy does not look like a politician or crime lord."

Steph had scooted over to the boys now too, Cass following behind. "He isn't," the blond said, holding out her hand to take a look at the man. "We already investigated the guy. He's a nobody. No family, no job."  
"So no one anyone will miss," concluded Damian, pursing his lips. "It's not the League's MO. Why kidnap a..." he paused, a series of emotions racing across his face as he watched his fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He grimaced.

"What? What is it?" urged Tim, taking the picture from Steph's fingers. Damian narrowed his eyes to slits. "Usually, the League does not kill, not unless they are contracted to do so or someone threatens their power, they operate from the shadows, so casualties are few. But there are situations in which innocents are... sacrificed."  
"Sacrificed?" Tim sounded as confused as Cass felt. She didn't know about any sacrifices.

"When a new Damon's Head gets appointed, he or she has to go through a series of trials to prove their worth. It's a tradition which simultaneously shows how well they handle crisis situations. They have to kill three different people. First, someone who has thrown their life away, someone who is at the end of the food chain. Innocent but basically a nobody. Someone without family or friends. It's supposed to show the new leader of the League is merciful to those who have wronged no one or something. In the sense of 'better off dead than continue a life like that.'

"The next victim is someone who leads a normal life. Normal job, normal friends. It's supposed to show ruthlessness. It's important for possible contracts they could accept.

"The last person to kill is a celebrity. Someone who is a danger to the League would be the most suitable. An anti Lex Luthor or something. If the successor of the Demon's Head does that, he proves that he is willing to act against people who threaten the League. Throughout history, that last kill has always had a grave impact on the common people and almost always resulted in the government trying to take action against the League. But they were never successful, since they couldn't very well send soldiers to take them down. They wanted to prevent mass panic. Imagine how the people would act if they knew about a group of professional assassins."

Cass swallowed down a big lump in her throat. _A new Ra's_ _al_ _Ghul? Impossible._  
"But why would your grandfather just step down?" Stephanie was leaning against Tim, a frown pulling at her eyebrows.   
Eyes tracing patterns on his palms, Damian furrowed his brows. "He wouldn't. I doubt he would let my mother take over. Not yet."

"Then why kidnap the guy?"   
"I do not know. It makes no sense."  
They fell silent, all lost in their own thoughts. Cass wondered if Talia al Ghul would really be the new leader of the League. There had been no sign of Ra's wanting to give up command. She sighed. All things considered, the possibility of them kidnapping that man for different reasons was much higher than Ra's letting his daughter take the lead.   
_

Half an hour later (Cass had always been good at estimating how much time she had spent in one place), the white door opened with a metallic screech. She winced and fought the instinct to cover her ears, head snapping up, noticing from the corner of her eye how Damian flinched in a very un-Damian like way at the sound.

"Well look at that, the Bat-siblings united." Cass' eyes locked on the person beside the speaker, baby blue orbs staring at them with growing panic. "Dick," she breathed.


	8. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so much happens in this one. Jason´s in some deep shit, and Dick finally lets the cat out of the bag. Just what happened between him and Slade?

_135,5 hours before (6 days):_  
 _8:30 am_  
 _Secret_ _location_

It came as a surprise, not necessarily an unpleasant one, that Kayla had taken the teenagers hostage faster than Deathstroke had anticipated. It forced him to slightly alter his plans though.

But now he could see Cain's wide eyes, Brown's furious expression, Todd's murderous lazarus-glowing orbs, Drake's down-curved mouth and Damian's... well, there were a lot of different emotions flashing though the boy's eyes.

He seemed angry, obviously, but Slade hadn't missed the flinch when the door was pushed open. In the days he had been captured, Castor and Slade had visited him once, other than that, he had been kept in total silence in the white room.

It had taken an impressing amout of time for it to take effect, but Damian had reacted quite startled when his siblings had been pushed into his room of solitude. And not merely out of worry for his kin.

A small smile grazed the mercenary' s lips. _Perfect._  
He had one more thing planned for the boy. It would never be enough to push an al Ghul over the edge, but despite it all, Damian was just twelve and it would at least leave lasting effects.

But first things first.

He pushed Grayson forward, watching as he stumbled into Cain, who immediately wrapped her arms around him protectively. The eldest sibling patted her back reassuringly, turning to face Slade, subtly placing himself in front of his sister. From the look on the ex-assassin's face, she realized Grayson's intentions too.

Seizing up the vigilantes, it was obvious Todd was _this_ close to lunging himself at Slade, while Damian looked like he was torn between aggressively growling and defensively hissing.

_Like a kitten backed in a corner._

He chuckled silently at the mental image.

"Now, Grayson. I am going to have a talk with some of your siblings here, while you tell the rest of them of our... shared history."  
The vigilante's eyes widened and Slade hold up his hand as the kid tried to say something. "This is not up for debate. I told you, you have agitated me enough as it is, don't test me."   
Grayson's eyes lowered to the floor in a way that was all too familiar to Slade.

When they had first clashed, the kid had been thirteen short years old, running around with the Bat and flipping off people's shoulders. It had taken some work (and an unmentionable amount of money) to get the kid in his grip, but after some time of molding and a very subtle form of brainwashing (the carrot and the stick, so to speak), the former Robin had become so _damn compliant_. The though made his skin tingle pleasurable.

(Though sadly enough, Richard joining that team of sidekicks had undone all side effects Robin's time with the merc had left.)

Forcing himself out of his thought, Slade pulled a gun out of the holster on his thigh. The teenagers (did 13 year old Damian count as a teen? Slade wasn't sure) all stiffed, scooting closer together. _Cute._ "I am not going to shoot you." He smirked wickedly, although it was hidden by his mask. "Unless you give me a reason to, of course." No one moved.

Slade swiftly clamped his hand around Todd's arm, hauling him to his feet. The gruff looking teen scowled, white strands falling into his eyes, baring his teeth. Of all the Bat's children, Todd was the most unhinged, but he also had undeniable potential. Slade pressed the gun against the kid's temple, safety off. He pulled him close to his chest, watching the other heroes over the kid's shoulder. Damian was clenching his fists tightly as his sides, body stiff as a bow. Slade wondered briefly if the boy would attack him, but quickly discarded the thought.

1\. He still had Todd at gun point  
2\. The al Ghul heir seemed distant, wary, still dealing with the after effects of being Slade's only prisoner.

The other siblings, aside from Grayson, looked seconds away from starting a fight. Drake especially seemed to be having a hard time restraining himself. Grayson on the other hand was staring at Slade with huge, hate-filled eyes. It was pretty easy to guess what was going on inside his pretty little head. He was drowning in guilt, blaming himself for putting his oh-so-beloved siblings in danger. That's just how Grayson worked. The kid was trapped between defensive aggression and self-preservationalservility.

Leaning close to Todd's ear, he whispered darkly, "behave," and pulled him backwards out of the door, forcing him to close it afterwards.  
__

Jason gritted his teeth as he was pulled along. Despite himself, his heart was racing, images of the things Deathstroke could do to him flashing through his head. It wasn't the pain per se he was scared of (nothing could top the Joker's torture and the terror in Jason's own mind when they met again), it was the horror of dying. He didn't ever want to be trapped inside that all consuming darkness again. It had been so _cold,_ so _lonely_. It made his throat run dry.

But if Wilson wanted him dead, he would have already killed him. So Jason bit his tongue and didn't struggle as he was lead by the mercenary. He couldn't deny that he was curious as to what the man wanted from him (or Dick for that matter). He knew about the Demon Brat's past with Deathstroke, about the whole I-should-be-Ra's-al-Ghul's-heir thing, but what the fuck could have happened between Goldie and Wilson to cause this whole kidnapping scenario? Dick was probably spilling the beans to the others right now and Jason was pissed he had to hear the story from Deathstroke's perspective first (if at all).

He growled as he was pushed into a metal chair, its feet bolted to the floor, and Deathstroke yanked Jason's hands to each side of the armrests, restraining him with zip-ties that dug into his skin. The sharp pain made him jerk slightly and Wilson regarded him with an amused chuckle.

Jason had never really given much thought to Deathstroke the Terminator. When Bruce had first taken him in, he had stayed away from the really dangerous villains, taking down the scum that was running around crime alley, exploiting the street kids and people living there. He had stopped robberies and rapists, making Gotham saver for the small people.

Until the night he had found out his mother was still alive (following the events of his torture and death by the Joker's hand).

And after his return, he had been hell bent on making Bruce suffer, making him _see_ Jason's suffering. He had done a lot of shit while under the Pit's and Talia's influence (including almost killing Tim, but that's a whole other story). And then came the whole 'building his own crime empire' thingy... So no, Slade Wilson had never really been on his radar, not even after the Demon Brat had first popped up.

And still it surprised him, when Deathstroke removed his mask, that he seemed to be in his late 50's, white hair framing his face. He was older than Bruce and still on top of his game. Must be something in that super soldier serum or whatever was making him such a dangerous enemy (Jason was getting some serious Anti Captain America vibes).

Deathstroke sat down on a chair in front of him, eyeing Jason up and down. The anti-hero really wished he had his armour on right about now. The steely eye send shivers down his back.

"Jason Todd."   
Jason's lips thinned. "That would be me."   
"You are one interesting person. From a street rat to Batman's partner. And, most importantly, survivor of the Lazarus' madness."  
His whole body stiffed at those words, unwanted images of green anguish flashing through his mind.   
"What's it to you, sucker?" he spit, words laced with acid. Wilson raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. "No need to be so defensive, kid. I have felt the rage of the Pit myself, I know what it can do to one's soul. But you are the most extreme case of bloodlust that has been noted down in centuries."

Jason scowled darkly, ignoring the unpleasant tightening of his gut. This conversation was not going in any direction he was comfortable with. "So what?" he hissed, leaning forward slightly. "Madness or not, when I get my hands free, I will rip your throat out and make you eat it."   
Before Jason could make another threat, he was headbutted so hard, stars exploded behind his eyes, blinding pain obscuring his vision, his head snapping back. "Fuck," he grunted, feeling warm blood run down his nose. This was gonna become one heck of a headache. He coughed roughly, grimacing as blood dripped from his nose into his mouth. "The fuck was that for?"   
"Self-indulgence."

Breathing hard, Jason bit his tongue and tried to compose himself. Agitating the man was not profitable for him, especially with the threat of a concussion on the way.

"What do you want from me?"   
Deathstroke regarded him with a cool eye, and Jason squirmed in his chair. "You were dead, boy, I read your autopsy report. Severe brain damage and permanent nerve pain. Countless broken bones, ruptured spleen, one lung collapsed, the other pierced by broken ribs. Furthermore, caused by the explosion, third and forth degree burns, as well as shrapnel inj-"  
" _I know what he did to me, you don't need to_ _ **list**_ _it,_ " Jason growled angrily, hands trembling violently at his sides (if from rage or terror, he wasn't sure).

"If this is about my resurrection, I really don't know what to say to you. I was _dead_ , now I'm _not_."  
Wilson didn't speak for a moment, regarding him with a scrutinizing look. "That is exactly what I am here to talk about. I am curious, did Talia dug you out of your grave to throw you into the green waters? Did she do it to impress her lover? Did she hope to win him back by returning what was lost?"

Alarm bells started blaring inside Jason's head, and it took biting his tongue sharply to not let himself show any sign that he had noticed Deathstroke's slip-up. How did Wilson know it was Talia who had put him in the Lazarus Pit? He obviously didn't know Jason had been brought back to life beforehand, still inside his own grave, and that Talia had found him wandering the streets. But Wilson did know Ra's' daughter was responsible for his current state of mind, which posed the question of how he had obtained said information. The League had been careful to sweep the knowledge of it under the rug, if only to keep unwanted attention off the Pit. So either the League was involved, or Deathstroke had somehow managed to infiltrate the League of Shadows and planted a spy. Both were concerning options.

Instead of voicing any of his thoughts, he put on a defiant glare and spit saliva and blood at the merc's feet. "That's none of you goddamn fucking business." The man regarded him with indifference and folded his hands in his lap. "I will make this easy, so even someone with your upbringing can understand," he said, voice the embodiment of disdain. If he was overexaggerating to rile Jason up or if he really thought that low of his former home situation, Jason was not sure, but it pissed him off royally, a slightly green hue overtaking his vision.

Deathstroke continued. "I have five hostages consisting of your siblings, so I suggest you start answering my questions." Jason narrowed his eyes, quirking his lips up sharply, rage boiling inside his stomach. "If we were just hostages, kidnapping all of us is means taking unnecessary risks. You took Damian two days ago, but he is still alive, which is surprising considering your backstory, so you obviously still have plans for him. And Dick has been acting weird lately, which, now that we are here, probably means he somehow came in contact with you before any of us even realized something was wrong. Thinking back to our earlier confrontation just proves that this is really mostly about Dick, you said yourself that you two know each other."

"Impressive," commented Wilson, nodding slowly. "And your other siblings? What do you think is their role in all of this. And yours, of course." If Jason was right with his assumptions so far, then his, and everyone else's, purpose was to put pressure on Dick. Jason had no idea what a merc would want from his big brother so bad he would risk a war with Gotham's heroes (and the Justice League in extension). "I am here because of my connection to the Pit," he continued his analysis. "Probably because you are entertaining the idea of using it if someone does manage to kill you. But you are afraid of losing control as I did." The older man confirmed it was a nod. Jason didn't want to think of the implications of Deathstroke giving information so willing. He swallowed and Wilson continued talking.

"And what about Cassandra Cain, Timothy Drake, and Stephanie Brown?" Jason stayed silent. Tim was a genius at tracking people, but someone with Slade Wilson's financial means would have been able to stay under the radar long enough to go undetected by even Red Robin. As to the girls, Jason supposed they were there to demonstrate Deathstroke's power, especially since Cass was a very dangerous foe.

That's what he thought anyway, but Wilson proved him wrong.

"Cassandra Cain is a weapon," he stated, eye carefully trained on Jason. "With the right motivation, she will become a valuable asset to my arsenal. The perfect tool to be used, if sharpened correctly."   
With a growl of pure rage, Jason surged forward, feeling the zip-ties tear into his skin. His chest tightened with feral protectiveness over his little sister. "Cass is not a fucking weapon, you mouth-breathing dick monkey! If you think you can fucking _use_ her, this whole family will tear you apart!" For a moment, the mercenary blurred before his eyes, replaced by a poisonous green glow. Jason blinked and everything was back to normal. Deathstroke must have seen something that pleased him, because his one visible eye lit up and he leaned closer, continuing to bait him.

"Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown are merely leverage, _expendable._ I suggest you start answering my questions, or I'll put a bullet in little Timmy's head." A dangerous smirk worked its way upon the mercenary's face. "But then again, you were the one who came closest to killing him so far, so maybe that threat does not hold much weight. You don't care for him, do you, continuing to call him Replacement, like he is not even worth being called by his name."

If you asked Jason what happened next, he wouldn't be able to give an honest answer. Everything turned green before his eyes, his head screaming with mad laughter, his eyes glowing neon, all thought leaving his mind, a blinding pain shooting through his heart. The next thing he knew, he had Deathstroke pinned against the wall, hands wrapped tightly around his throat, _squeezing, squeezing,_ ** _squeezing._**

And Wilson was laughing, the raspy sound mixing with the horrifying laughter in Jason's head, creating a cacophony of terror.

"Look d-" a wet cough slurred Wilson's voice. "Look at your hands." Jason's burning green eyes focused on the fingers still fiercely wrapped around the man's throat... And the mad hue started to fade. His wrists were a mess. He had broken through the zip-ties, but now they were embedded deep into his skin, almost hitting bone. The Lazarus' effects must have overwhelmed his mind to the extent where he didn't even feel the pain.

Jason bend to the side and vomited.   
Partly from the gruesome picture his wrists created, blood coating his whole forearm, partly from the shock of the pain he registered all at once, and mostly because he had let the Pit take over once again, succumbing to his insatiable anger, the rage-

Jason vomited again, bile burning in his throat. After months of constant fury, he had been terrified of being oppressed by the madness again, of _hurting his family_ again (of killing Tim this time). And now Deathstroke had riled him up to the point where he lost control.

He's a fucking monster.

_His wrists were prove of that._

His eyes burned. His throat burned. His stomach roiled and he felt like vomiting again, but he managed to keep the rest of his food inside.

"What do you fucking get out of this?" he spit venomously, his voice rough and scratchy. The mercenary regarded him disdainfully and Jason straightened his back from where he was leaning on the wall for support.

 _His wrists were on fire, the zip ties scraping_ _across_ _bone whenever he_ _moved_ _._

Jason felt sick. Wilson's hand tangled in his hair and Jason sucked in a sharp breath, stiffening unintentionally. It wasn't often that people pulled his hair, but when it did happen, it always seemed... personal.

 _"_ _Dad, please, I'm sorry, I'll be g-good... please stop, it hurts._ _"_  
 _(Head banging against walls, cruel fingers twisted in black curls)_

Deathstroke pulled Jason's face close, a feral smirk on his lips. "At the end of this ordeal, you will learn to control the Pit, one way or another. I don't care if I have to beat you, threaten your family or cut you open and see what's inside. You _will_ learn, because I want to know if there is a way to _overpower_ the madness. You have seen what my scientists can do, I am sure they would be able to work wonders on you Lazarus infected mind."

Jason's body gave an involuntary shudder at the threat. Was Wilson implying he would fucking _experiment_ on him?! Jason was exhausted, felt gross, tasted bile in his mouth and was bone-deep tired, he did not have the nerve to deal with the terror seizing his heart at the very thought. 

He had known people who had given their organs to shady underground doctors as a way of earning quick money, but he _never_ met any one of those again. Who knew what kind of sick fuck Deathstroke the Terminator could brew up to torture him with.

He was too damn exhausted to think about it. These last few days had been anything but restful. From the night he'd found Kayla, be hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep, then the stress of Damian's kidnapping and _when was the last time he_ _fucking_ _ate_?

Jason felt faint. The agony in his wrists was killing him, making him light-headed. _Wasn't he losing too much blood?_ He swallowed through his dry throat, vision shifting in and out of focus. He blinked rapitidly.

Suddenly, there was a hand around his biceps and Jason blushed in embarrassment as he started violently. _Fucking blood-loss._  
He was pulled back into the chair, not restricted this time. Jason raised his head _(was_ _it_ _supposed to be so heavy?)_ And watched the villain through half-lidded eyes. The after effects of the Pit's rage always left him feeling hollow and dead tired.

He tipped forward and Wilson put a steady hand on his chest, pushing him back into the chair. Jason squirmed uncomfortably, but his attempts were pathetic and futile.   
"Listen up, kid," said Deathstroke, snapping his fingers in front of Jason's face. He blinked drowsily. "Hm~m?"   
Wilson sighed exasperated and gripped his chin roughly, tilting his head up. _When had he dropped it?_   
He blinked to distinguish the mercenary from the black spots obscuring his sight, but everything was blurry and Jason's head throbbed. He mumbled something as his eyes drifted shut for good.

_Meanwhile:_

Dick stared down at his lap, thoughts running a mile per hour. Slade had Jason, _Slade had his little_ _brother_ _,_ and expected Dick to tell his other siblings of their shared past. He knew they deserved the truth, and Dick didn't doubt they would support him in any way possible, but... It was like opening year old scars, which had barely heal in the first place. It was a period of time Dick still had nightmares about.

Finally, Dick raised his head to look at his family, all sat around him in a supportive circle. He knew they were curious, _needed_ to know why this was happening, but the mere thought of telling anyone of the things he had done ( _the things_ _that_ _were done to him)_ send his mind reeling.

A warm hand lay reassuringly against his biceps and Tim's cool eyes gave Dick the courage he needed to start his story.  
"I first met Deathstroke five years ago, just before we founded the Young Justice team."

 _Dick Grayson loved_ _being_ _Robin. The thrill, the freedom, the justice. Every last part of it._ _It felt liberating. And he was_ _**good** _ _at it, his background with the circus granting him_ _advantages_ _regarding speed,_ _flexibility_ _, agility and,_ _not_ _to forget, he wasn't easy to scare._

 _And_ _still_ _Batman would not allow_ _the_ _thirteen-year-old to go out on his own, or, heaven_ _forbid_ _, to fight one of the Arkham crazies. It wasn't_ _fair_ _. Dick could take on three_ _armed_ _robbers at the same_ _time_ _, being_ _victorious_ _without a scratch on him,_ _and_ _he still_ _was_ _being_ _treated like a little kid._

 _He_ _had_ _seen_ _death_ _before, had been subjected to vicious training and never_ _once_ _complained about it, and_ _still_ _Bruce didn't trust him enough to go_ _out_ _on his own._

 _It irked him, but it was not as bad as it could be, he wasn't being_ **_cuddled_ ** _at least, (though Dick would_ _not_ _complain_ _if Bruce would actually take the time to give Dick more attention than maybe a short hug_ _or_ _clap on the shoulder, regarding anything_ _other_ _than_ _their_ _night job.)_

 _Shaking his head, Robin cleared his thoughts, focusing back on the mission. There had been a series of robberies in local_ _banks_ _lately,_ _and the police (and even Batman,_ _though_ _the man_ _wasn't_ _admitting it) were at a loss as_ _to_ _how_ _the criminals entered and exited the_ _buildings_.

 _So here he was, standing in_ _another_ _empty vault, going crazy over the impossible escape of the criminals. Batman was in the lobby, talking to the_ _security_ _guard and looking_ _for_ _other clues._  
 _Robin switched on the_ _ultraviolet light in his mask,_ _scanning_ _the vault_ _for_ _blood or other indications to the criminals' identities._

 _He crouched low and looked high, searched_ _behind_ _a metal table and even_ _scrutinise_ _d_ _the security camera in the corner (the feed was useless, the lens painted white)._

_He came up empty-handed. Just like the last three vaults he had investigated._

_With an irritated huff, he switched the lenses in his mask back to standard and regarded the vault with a deep frown._

_The gang had somehow managed to avoid the security cameras in the lobby, snuck past the guards and entered the vault. The alarm was_ _set_ _off right after the vault door were opened, sending a message to the nearest_ _police_ _station. It took Gotham's finest twelve minutes to reach the bank, the vigilantes 14. Five blocks around the_ _bank_ _had been barricaded, the robbers shouldn't_ _have_ _been able to make it past the police. And they somehow managed every_ _single_ _time. It was infuriating._

_"Find anything interesting?"_

_Robin spun around so fast, he was lucky he didn't get whiplash. In the entrance to the vault, a man was lazily leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed above his chest, totally at ease. Robin's left foot slid back, body falling into a fighting pose. The man wore two twin swords, one handle black, the other orange. His whole outfit seemed to fall into those two color schemes. His mask, split in half, sported only one visible eye on the orange side, leaving no room to read his expression. The costume itself was split down the middle, shoulder plates, gauntlets, utility belt, and gun holsters, all in black and orange._

_Robin had seen him in the database, had read the body count and skill. Deathstroke the Terminator was way out of his league, and he was cornering him where Batman wouldn't hear his cry for help._

_Dick had been complaining about Bruce's caution, but that did not mean he wanted to face one of the most dangerous mercenaries Batman ever had to faced. He would be dead within seconds. And he still_ _didn't_ _know_ _what the mercenary was doing there in the first place. Was he responsible_ _for_ _the_ _robberies_ _?_

_Thinking fast, Dick jerked his hand to his ear, planning on radioing Batman, even if just to scream, to somehow get across that he needed help. He hadn't even seen the blow coming. Pain exploded across his face, and Dick opened his mouth to scream, a gurgled, strangled sound escaping him. His vision was blurry, there was a distant ringing in his ears, his face throbbed, and oh god, why did his nose hurt so much? He tasted copper and opened his mouth, blood running down his chin. It took him a moment too long to realize that his nose was gushing blood, definitely broken, and he was lying on the floor, face cradled protectively in shaking hands. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been hit so hard before. Tears of pain cascaded down his cheeks, choked sobs bursting from his lips._

_"Now, child." Dick flinched away from the words, Deathstroke crouching down beside him. "I have a proposal, a one time offer." He waited until Dick raised his eyes, glaring defensively at the male. The mercenary continued. "Do you know who I am?"_

_Dick didn't answer, choosing to glower instead. Did that man seriously think he could assault Dick like that and make him compliant? That he would just roll over for him? His face hurt like hell, but he was nowhere near defeated. And anyway, Batman would turn up any second, and then Deathstroke couldn't hurt him anymore._

_Suddenly, a hand pressed down on his face, hard, his nose crunching under the force, and Dick drowned in white pain, a high-pitched scream wrenching itself from his throat. He screamed and thrashed and screamed and tried to pry the hand away, but Deathstroke simply increased the pressure, Dick's yells gaining volume as the seconds ticked by. Then, the hand let up, and Dick fell to the side, curling in on himself and gripping his hair, face hidden behind his arms. The only sound was the young teenager's quiet cries._

_The man repeated his question, and this time, Dick breathed out a faint, "Deathstroke". The mercenary nodded. "Good. Now listen, and listen closely, or I will break more bones, do you understand?" Robin's breath hitched. He nodded desperately, curling up tighter._

_He wanted to believe he did so to stall for time, but Dick was terrified. He had fought against many opponents, but none were as trained as Deathstroke and none were as brutal. The villain hurt him to prove a point, not to take him down. He swallowed, his throat burning._

_Deathstroke regarded him for a long moment before speaking. "I have kept an eye on you for a long time now. I have seen you develop and I know where you could one day end up. But under the care of Batman, you will never reach your full potential. I can show you tricks and moves your Dark Knight can only dream of. I have a legacy to uphold and I need an heir... an apprentice."_

_The words didn't make sense. Robin had a hard time focusing, but he was sure he must have misunderstood the man. He wanted him as an... apprentice? He wanted to_ ** _train_** _him? But... Deathstroke was a mercenary, a_ ** _killer_**. _If the man thought, Robin would ever... he felt like vomiting (or maybe that was because of all the blood on his face). "Why... Why would I..." He let the end of the question fade out, it was obvious what he meant._

 _Deathstroke raised his arm and involuntarily, Dick_ _drew_ _in on_ _himself_ _, but the man simply pushed a small, hidden button on his sleeve, and a metal_ _remote_ _appeared in his hand, seemingly inserted into his clothes._

 _"What_ _exactly_ _is Batman to you? Father,_ _brother_ _, friend?" He didn't wait_ _for_ _an answer, hovering the metal device in_ _front_ _of_ _Robin's face."No matter what he is_ _, he is important to you. This," he_ _continued_ _,_ _gesturing_ _to the remote, where a small red light started_ _blinking_ _, "is a trigger_ _for_ nano _-bots I have inserted into Catwoman's bloodstream. Just one press of a button, and you can watch_ _her_ _die a torturous_ _death_ _. I have_ _noticed_ _she and_ _the_ _Dark_ _Knight_ _have become..._ _ **close.**_ _Lovers, even. It would be a shame if I had to kill her, just because you decided to be selfish. It can't be easy_ _for_ _your mentor to find happiness with the life he is leading. Do you really want to be_ _the_ _cause of his suffering?"_

 _Dick's heart_ _stuttered_ _to a halt, a_ _shocked_ _gasp leaving his mouth._ _Deathstroke_ _had_ _inserted_ _Silena with nano-bots?! The_ _thief_ _had become like a_ _family_ _member to their little duo of vigilantes, Bruce had finally found_ _someone_ _he could be_ _himself_ _around. And Dick liked her, he really liked her. And even if he_ _didn't_ _, wasn't it his duty as a bat to save every_ _Gothamite_ _in need of saving?_

 _He still hadn't fully recovered from the_ _shock_ _of the blunt_ _force_ _used on_ _him, but he knew that much:_

 _1\. Batman was_ _taking_ _too_ _long. Deathstroke would take what he wanted, and it was his_ _decision_ _weather he left_ _with_ _more_ _than a_ _broken_ _nose_ _or not._

 _2._ _Silena_ _Kyle was in grave_ _danger_ _, small_ _killer-bots_ _running_ _through her system. Dick needed to save her. He was_ _only_ _a_ _thirteen_ _year_ _old_ _kid, had no chance_ _against_ _a legend like_ _Deathstroke_ _the Terminator, so what other_ _choice_ _than_ _saying_ _yes_ _does_ _he_ _have_ _?_

_**None.** _

_So Dick swallowed_ _down_ _the_ _terror_ _and_ _bone_ _deep fear and_ _slowly_ _nodded,_ _uncurling_ _from_ _the_ _ground. "So," he stuttered,_ _coughing_ _blood from his throat, "if I go with you, train under your command, you_ _will_ _not_ _harm_ _Catwoman_ _? You won't kill her?"_

 _Deathstroke_ _nodded_ _his head_

 _"And you_ _will_ _not touch Batman_ _either_ _?"_  
 _"When he_ _comes_ _looking_ _for_ _you, I will_ _not_ _hesitate_ _to defend_ _what_ _is mine with everything I have_ _got_ _, but I will_ _not_ _hunt him down on my own, no."_  
 _Dick blinked back tears. Was he really_ _doing_ _this,_ _signing_ _away his soul to the devil? He would be_ _stripped_ _of everything he knew, taken away from_ _Bruce_ _and_ _Silena_ _and Barbara. He_ _would_ _lose_ _everything so Batman_ _wouldn't_ _have_ _to_ _._

_...There were worse ways to go..._

_"Okay," he whispered,_ _feeling_ _as_ _though_ _he had just signed_ _his own_ _death certificate, "I will do it."_


	9. Chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass loves her family and is a bas-ass, Tim reflects on the time after Jason came back from the dead and Bruce is in a bad place.

**Important!**

**This is an AU, remember that, so far, only Dick and Damian have been Robin, Jason was** **Red** **Hood** **from** **the start and Tim Red Robin.** **Therefore** **, the whole Jason-coming-back-to-life fiasco went a little** **differently** **(especially since Teen Titans don't exist in this universe, so Jason couldn't break in and beat Tim half to death). So I created my** **own** **backstory** **, but it's** **still** **very close to** **Canon** **.**

* * *

_134 hours before (6 days):_   
_10 am_   
_Secret Location_

Cass's inner clock told her Deathstroke came for her 10 hours after their abduction. Jason was still gone, she hadn't seen her brother since Wilson took him away.

Cass stayed silent and calm as she was led through blank, windowless hallways. Her eyes swept across even stone walls, the grayish color a striking difference to the blinding white of the last few hours. Neon tubes on the ceiling cast a sickly, green light on the duo.

She didn't say a word as Wilson opened a metal door and waited for her to move through, his hands resting near his gun holsters. He was weary of her, _good._ She could use that to her advantage.

Stepping over the threshold, she was careful to _ooze_ confidence as she put on her carefully crafted mask of indifference.

_Never show your fear._

Cassandra carefully inspected the new room, hoping for an air vent or window, a way to escape, or at least map out the building in her head. She might be able to take Deathstroke out herself, but she had to bide her time, otherwise, she would endanger herself and her siblings.

Breath catching in her throat, her confident facade almost cracked as she realized she wasn't the only one inside the room.

Cass's eyes zeroed in on the limp figure of her brother. Jason was restrained to a chair, slumping forward with his head resting on his chest, clearly unconscious. A thread of saliva and blood was hanging from his slightly parted lips and upon closer inspection, his wrists looked mutilated, swollen and red and horrifying.

From the distance, she couldn't tell if he had other injuries, but the visible ones were in a bad enough shape to send worry spiking in her chest, the heavy smell of copper clogging her nose.

The need to rush to Jason's side was overwhelming. A few years ago, she would have looked at him with cold blankness, but now, now that she knew she was allowed to feel, to show emotions and act on them, it was harder to keep them under lock and key. It had taken a lot of effort, from her and the family that cared about her, but Cass had slowly warmed up to the world, she'd started speaking, expressing herself in new ways, discovering her love for dancing. It had been liberating, being able to do what she wanted to do for the sake of _doing_ it.

But she also knew Deathstroke had taken her here to assess her reaction to the beaten form of a person she cared for. Jason and she had had their differences, mostly about his lethal way of dealing with crime, but he was _better_ now, and Cassandra could proudly proclaim herself his sister.

So she steeled herself and faced Deathstroke head-on. The ex-assassin blocked out the smell of vomit, blood, and despair, the sound of Jason's labored breathing, and schooled her face into an expression of aloofness, not one muscle in her face betraying the rage that had started to fester in her chest. Jason had been through enough, they all had, no one needed another plateful of trauma thrown at them. And after what Wilson had done to Dick, Cass was livid, aching to take revenge for her big brother (they all were, Dick had done so much for them, it was time to pay him back).

The mercenary still wore his mask, so she couldn't see his expression, but the mercenary's shoulders had tensed minutely, barely perceptible for anyone whose only way of communication hadn't been by reading another person's body language, and his hand had twitched toward his weapon, a clear sign that he did not get the reaction he was gunning for.

The Wayne girl forced herself not to look at her brother, keeping her intense eyes on the enemy. Jason needed medical attention, asap, but Cass couldn't do anything for him as long as Deathstroke didn't allow it. It was... infuriating, frustrating, to stand there and wait for the opponent to make the first move. The health (and possibly life) of her family hung in the balance and Cassandra was hell bend on doing anything in her power to ensure their safety.

Their silent stand-off was supposed to unnerve her, make her sloppy, impatient. But Cass had dealt with interrogation methods much worse since her early childhood, barely anything fazed her anymore.

Finally, the villain moved further into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, making sure his back was never fully turned towards her. He beckoned Cass forward, nodding his head at two chairs, one next to Jason, the other facing both. She hadn't seen them before, too focused on not focusing on her injured brother, and mentally berated herself for it. She had been trained to always assess her surroundings, by her assassin parents and her vigilante father.

Viciously banning the nervous knot in her stomach, she gracefully sat down in the chair, keeping her hands in her lap, body tight. It was metal, cold against her clothed back. She kept her eyes on the mercenary as the man put the other chair away, choosing to loom over her instead.

He was still in his full Deathstroke attire, swords, mask, and guns posing an intimidating figure. Cass was well aware of the tactics used to interrogate people, that Wilson was aiming to frighten her, so she would let her guard down. And to some degree, she was frightened, but not in the way Deathstroke was hoping for.

Cassandra had long since come to terms with death. She had been intimately close with death and destruction before she could walk, had learned that death was nothing to be afraid of, it just _was_. She had been trained to go hand-in-hand with the void, to embrace it, even.

So no, Deathstroke could not intimidate her into loosening her tongue.

Her siblings though did not have the same relation to death, they have not yet accepted that death was inevitable. They fought to escape the darkness every time they put on a mask, and somehow, they managed to sneak past death's doorstep for years now.

And then there was Jason, who had a different kind of relationship with death, more complicated than Cass could ever hope to fathom. Cass could only imagine what the prospect of dying _again_ was like, but the thought sent her heart racing. Jason was undeniably terrified of losing his life, and while Cass couldn't grasp the heavy weight of the fear of dying, she could understand the horror of facing something that had caused so much _(too much)_ fear and pain before.

Cass continued to stay unmoving, watching Wilson with sharp eyes. Usually, her unresponsive appearance unnerved her opponents, resulting in them making mistakes, rushed decisions, becoming sloppy. But she wasn't sure whether that approach would hold against Deathstroke, too.

The man had been trained by the League of Assassins, as well, after all. And while her past was a dark chapter she would like to put behind her, that training was enabling her to keep a clear head.

The mercenary moved past her to where Jason was still collapsed on the metal chair.

Cass sucked in a sharp breath, watching with narrowed eyes. She didn't know what she would do should Deathstroke harm Jason, right here, right now.

Just like death, Cassandra has never been afraid of pain.   
She grew up with it, it had been her only companion in her earliest years.

She didn't _like_ pain, of course, but she had learned to ignore it, to move past any agony assaulting her body. It was like a veil, cutting her mind off from her body, so she could function without the constricting need to make the hurt stop.

It was dangerous, and oftentimes, she would overestimate her limits and suffer from blood loss or exhaustion, but it had saved her life more than once.

However, seeing the people she had come to love in pain, that was on a whole other level of anguish. She never knew her heart could ache like that, but it had happened the more time she spent patrolling with her family.

So, hoping against all odds Deathstroke would not cause Jason any more harm, she watched as the man crouched down beside her brother. For only a second, she considered charging the man, but Wilson was too close to Jason, there was too much that could happen.

The villain unsheathed a dagger. It was small, barely as large as her palm, but the blade reflected the light with a wicked shine, the sharp edge glistening almost maliciously.

Cass eyed the weapon like a hawk, her body coiling almost impossibly tight, like a bowstring ready to snap. Her mind went through a dozen different ways Deathstroke could use the dagger on her brother, the most painful and humiliating ways, all in a matter of seconds. She needed to calm down, but her heart was racing as though she had just run a hundred miles, stumbling as the dagger was moved closer to the unconscious teenager.

Rationally, she knew that, if she didn't slow her heart, she would give the man the exact reaction he desired, but her gut was rolling and her chest was squeezed tight and her focus was tunneled in on the weapon.

Desperately, she started counting in her head, trying to match her breathing to the numbers, but her fingers _itched_ to hit something, to _break_ something _(_ _someone_ _)_ , and her mind was not as clear as it had been just a few moments before.

A barely inaudible breath left her, when Deathstroke simply cut the rope across Jason's chest, the teenager pitching forward.

Cass wanted to dart to his side and catch him, cushion his fall to save him from more suffering, but that would portray a weakness Deathstroke would no doubt prey on. She scarcely controlled her body from flinching when Jason hit the ground with a soft moan.

"Take him, I'm bringing you back." Deathstroke's voice was carefree as he nudged Jason's unconscious form with his boot, electing another muffled sound of distress from the boy.

Cass moved deliberately casual, withstanding the urge to hurtle herself to her brother's side, carefully draping his arm over her shoulder (heedful of his mangled wrist), and half dragged, half carried him, Deathstroke casting a foreboding shadow over the siblings.

The vigilante gritted her teeth against Jason's bulk, forcing herself to be as gentle as possible, while not slowing too much. Deathstroke hadn't said anything about future plans to her (or why she had been the one to get Jason), though she suspected the scenario was a test of sorts, appraising her reaction, or perhaps her ability to hide her emotions. Why, she didn't know. If she wanted to draw a glowing red cross across his plans though, she would have to find out.

Jason grunted lowly and Cass shushed him, gently placing a soft kiss to his lowered forehead, the action hidden from Deathstroke by Jason's limp body. 

* * *

_130 hours before:  
2 pm  
Unknown location_

Tim bumped his head against the white wall _(_ _everything_ _was white, it hurt his eyes, grated on his ears, filled his lungs, it_ _ **hurt**_ _)_. His hands were shaking, _dripping, dripping_ , with blood. Jason's blood.

They had done their best to keep his wounds clean, bandaged his wrists with strips of Dick's shirt (but Jason had already lost too much blood, he needed a blood transfusion, asap), and cushioned his head on Dick's lap, who was running trembling hands through Jason's hair.

Tim wanted to reassure his oldest brother, wanted to tell him that Jason was gonna be fine (Dick couldn't lose someone else, not so shortly after Wally, it would destroy him). He wanted to tell Dick they'd be rescued soon and most importantly, that none of this was his fault, but Tim just... lacked the energy. He was tired, in a bone-deep, overall exhaustion kind of way.

His head lolled to the side, resting on Stephanie's shoulder. He was so tired...

It was weird, how much Jason meant to him even after everything that happened.

Before Tim became Red Robin, when he still lived in a lonely, cold and quiet mansion, with absent parents and indifferent nannies, his only comfort had been Batman, Robin and Red Hood.

At the time, Robin had been with the team most of the time, staying in Mount Justice for weeks on end (the situation with Bruce and Dick had been strained back then, he'd learned later), so patrolling Gotham had fallen to Batman and Red Hood.

No one even noticed Tim sneaking out night after night, clutching his camera close to his chest, keeping to the shadows, heart racing in his small chest, praying no thug would notice the small rich boy playing detective (or stalker, if you wanted to believe Jason).

Jason had been his hero.

And then Jason had gone MIA form Gotham's rooftops. At first, Tim thought maybe he had been injured and benched from patrol. When Jason didn't show his face (helmet) for another two weeks, a tight knot had started forming in his stomach. No injury had kept them off the street for that long before...

And when Batman started putting common thugs in the hospital, and Jason was missing for a month, a horrible, terrible, gut-wrenching picture formed in his head.

It took another month for Tim to finally accept the unacceptable. Jason was gone, his hero was _dead._

And Batman was spiraling.

Tim just wanted to help. He never intended to replace Jason as Batman's partner, never wanted to take anyone's place. So, he offered his assistance. He even chose a name honoring Dick and Jason, the _Red_ for his lost hero and the _Robin_ for the big brother he had finally gained. A _family_ (a real one, this time).

And while Tim knew he would never be enough to live up to Jason's legacy, he did his best, protected Batman and the citizens of Gotham. 

And then Jason came back, angry, vengeful, and with poisonous green eyes.   
Jason's crusade against Batman and the family had changed things, the dynamics between the vigilantes. Bruce and Dick had been at each other's throats almost constantly, blaming and yelling and hurting until something _(someone)_ breaks.

And Tim? Tim had tried to keep on the sidelines, patrol with Batgirl, stay out of Jason's path of war.

That clearly didn't stick. His place at Batman's side had put a blood-red target on his back, putting him in the crossfire of Jason's vendetta against their mentor.

Targets are meant to be hit.

Jason didn't stage a big, bad-ass show for his execution, it all happened swiftly and silently. _Bat-style_ _._

Logically, Tim knew that Jason couldn't be held accountable for the crimes he committed by a hundred percent.

The Lazarus Pit had messed him up badly, up to a point where Jason had been so controlled by rage, he couldn't even remember half of his actions once the madness had faded from his mind.

Then there was Talia's brainwashing, her plan to sic Jason on his own family, not to mention the whole fiasco with the Joker upon his return...

Jason had been in a bad place, to put it simply.

But that did not excuse his attempt on Tim's life.

It happened so... casually, so randomly, that Tim was still not sure if he'd really sprung Jason's trap, or if the older boy had simply seen him patrolling and seized the opportunity to get rid of his replacement.

Tim had investigated a noise from a back alley (which turned out to be a dog knocking over a trash can) when an EMP had disabled his comm and every other electronic device on him.   
He'd barely had the time to wonder what the hell had happened, before Jason had been on him like a demon from hell, his red helmet a beacon of terror.

He doesn't remember much of what followed after.  
Bit and pieces were still there, of Jason yelling...

 _(replacement, worthless, child soldier,_ **_replacement_ ** _,_ _pathetic_ _, what did I do wrong?)_

...of Jason's fists and later Tim's own bõ-staff, he remembered the feeling of a blade across his throat.

And then he'd woken up in the hospital, his world white with pain, Bruce and Dick sitting at his bedside (not fighting for once).

Turn out, Jason had really tried to kill him, and if Batman had come only seven minutes later, he would have succeeded.

At that point, they hadn't known about the circumstances of Jason's resurrection, hadn't known of the Pit's poisonous whispers. So Bruce and Dick had gone and made everything worse, trying to bring Jason (and the crime empire he had build himself) down.

Later, when the madness had faded, and Jason had been back in the embrace of the family (although reluctantly) he had avoided Tim at all cost, even went so far as leaving the room once Tim entered). At first, Tim had figured Jason still hated him (with the damn nickname and all), and only after Jason's quiet and awkward apology, did Tim understand that Jason hated himself more than he ever could someone else.

And that was the sad part about it all, wasn't it? Tim still wasn't sure whether that mind-set had changed over the last few years.

His eyes drifted to Jason's quiet form, bruises forming on tan skin. Things weren't perfect between them (they mostly avoided talking about emotions, something Dick always criticized (the hypocrite)), so most of their interaction was mindless banter, with a sharp comment here and there.

But despite it all, Tim was scared to hell and back that Jason wouldn't make it.

He had to make it, no one could stomach another death in the family, it would destroy them, and Tim was terrified they couldn't pull themselves back together again.

* * *

_126 hours before:_   
_6 pm_   
_Gotham_

Finding all of his children missing had almost pushed Bruce over the edge. With Damian gone, the man had been almost mad with worry, burying that raging part of himself beneath layers and layers of Batman, Gotham's dark vigilante. Losing his mind wouldn't have helped any.

But now, with six missing children, a team of teenagers fearful for their friends, and a worried and therefore snappish Barbara (who had insisted on helping, even though she couldn't go out on the field), it was fraying at his sanity.

He had watched the security footage of the Manor for hours, forcing himself to repeatedly observe his children get knocked down, taken out, and teleported away.

Kayla was nowhere to be found, and Bruce still didn't know who she was working for, who had his children, but once he found them, there would be hell to pay.

Bruce needed time to think, he needed quiet and a place to sort out his thoughts. So, in typical Batman fashion, he had locked the team in the Mountain, forcing them to stay put.

He himself had gone out into the streets, taking out his aggression and fear on the low-lives of Gotham, with Barbara in his ear (who had demanded to stay in the cave, helping from behind computer screens), while an algorithm searched for the tracker on his children.

The small devices weren't turned off, but their supposed location jumped from one place to the next, so Barbara had tried to reboot them via wireless coding, but the signal was jammed and Babs had a hard time working around the glitch.

The only thing Bruce could do was continue to keep Gotham safe for another night and interrogate any thug about a girl with wings. He didn't come up with any results, but that was to be expected.   
_

Following Batman across rooftops was a young man, keeping a safe distance (although Batman would have noticed him, hadn't he been so consumed by the loss of his children). The man's hair flashed blue as he passed one of the few not broken streetlamps.

Castor had a decision to make. He could keep away, stay out of the war that would follow, but Dick Grayson had saved his life, so maybe it was time to return the favor. And telling the boy's father who was behind the abduction would surely put a line through Deathstroke's plans.


End file.
